CliffSongs

  Dirty Mouth   The bad words. Use one and your class diminishes. I’m not trying to control you, No, no! I’m just limiting how you may express yourself. This elevates me in anyone’s estimation, Especially my own, Surely you can see that. And please, Do not attempt to disagree, It’s my opinion, And that invalidates the fact That the words I don’t care for Are an integral part of the common lexicon. How else may I enforce my imagined superiority? Surely you don’t actually believe That I will make an effort To be a better person on my own account, When it is so much easier To make up the rules as I go along. Don’t call it censorship! It’s just how I feel, And because my feelings matter More than your necessity To speak in that crude manner, We’ll be doing things my way, yes? Yes. Everyone knows those words are bad, Or they would be in books. And if I find a book with the bad words, Then it is a bad book, And you know...

  Timesong   The shards of shattered Time Score the continuum In deep rifts discordant. Impossibility rules. A splintering made real By the inexperienced overbold, Marking new roads, And this is the one chosen for you, The unrealized hero, And that most by yourself. What weapons bear you Counter to a dimension and force Too unknown to be squarely faced? What dreamtune may be sung in defiance? Or can the carol accomplish more? Attend me! It is said this existence was spoken, Was sung into being – Have you melody reparative made? Will you make one? Or should the fleeing fragments be gathered, And pronounced to their original form? Have you the strength for the undertaking? Or are you unwilling to reaffirm beauty? For that is where such mending must begin: In celebration of what was, And of what remains. Lift up your voice, hero! For the simple lark and sparrow Yet hold the song! These herald each sunrise, And soft...

  The Lost   He is lost. He knows where he is, But he is lost. Here are the familiar landmarks: The library, The gas station, The church. But the people speak strangely: Making talk-noises rife with dire insignificance, As if to affirm their humanity, And still avoid commitment. Conversing with words borrowed from television, Or found in the picture magazines, Full of faces, Beautiful people the most could never be. He is lost. He speaks ideas at some, Who wish him well Out of taut countenances Full of nothing, And avoiding all. They satisfy the status quo, And are satisfied by it, Even in the midst of poverty, And ruin. For they will not grow past themselves, Seeking sameness in all things, In each other, For they find safety in the dull, And hide among each other, Keeping their eyes cast away from the new, The unusual, And the unexpected. For they are lost, And they mean to remain so.   Cliff La...

  Hopalong Or X Marks the Splat   Meme department marionette, Clumsying your sodden bulk From one deterioration to the next, An unclever Benedict, Exposed and fish-white.   Ringside rollicker, A wayward child with the fidgets, Chided by an even bigger baby, You have the self-awareness Of a spilled beer.   Can you trust your new pals? Can they trust you? The entire bunch of you Have the collective attention span Of a bowl of steam.   Do you sycophant hard and often enough? Do you shut your mouth often enough? Do you drool appropriately in the mighty presence? Do you wear nose plugs? Do you fetch the Cokes now?   How long before the bros make the connection? How long before they make the correction? Malevolent magician: Captures a bluebird, And turns it into a turkey.   Your one foot vertical, How did you get so high? Once one has flown so lofty, There’s no place to go but down: ...

  Do   Look at that video! Hear the podcast! And read article after article after article, Only slightly altered in production. The regurgitated points, The echoed ideation, Rearranged per audience. The inane repetition. Amounting to little more than Digitally recorded superstition. I hear them talking. And him. And them. And that one over there. Borrowing each other’s phrases, Ideas, Repacked for streamed consumption, Preventing action. Politics as entertainment, As profit-generative, And the control mechanism it has always been. And I fell for it again. Given my penchant for information, It is likely That I will repeat that mistake: Sitting, Reading, Listening, Watching… Not doing. I want to do. I want us to do. If I only knew What the hell that thing Is supposed to be. What do we do? What do we do now? My great fear Is that we’ll keep asking that question And never come to an answer, Right o...

  Plastic Poem   Fine-tune the robot, Let it write the song. Let it compose the letter. Let it finish the novel. It’s a timesaver! Industrial creativity. How else to control The flow of ideas? Surely you don’t believe People should think for themselves? HA, HA, HA, HA! We will train the program! We will control their vision! We will advertise heavily! We will sell product! Until eventually, It all sounds the same, It all reads exact, It all blends into one, And the population becomes The loyal unthinking robots We always knew they were, But were too fucking cheap and lazy To build ourselves. You must understand, We are only making good use Of available raw material, That replicates itself Like good little boys and girls. And the good part? We have them convinced That it’s the smart thing to do. Industrial creativity! It’s the newest And bestest thing ever! Invest now, You saps.   Cliff Lake 11...

  Maybe   The lingering inkling, A squatting incorporeal toad of thought: This doubt. A question. A suggestion. A whisper. “maybe” The merest hint, Is that enough for confirmation? Or does that signify necessary caution? Is it the beginning? Is it custody? Is it control. “maybe” What certitude can be had? This apprehension in the subconscious, A guardian, A sentinel, A watchdog… Or a symptom. How to know which? If one loses it all, Would you know? Always “maybe” A near precipice, yes, But have you already fallen? What altscape do you now inhabit? Would they tell you? Would you want to know? Have you asked? Will you? A daily suspense. “maybe” Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. Maybe you’re okay. Maybe it’s best that you don’t know. Maybe it’s best to trust those around you. Maybe it’s already too late. Maybe it’s nothing to worry about. Maybe.   Maybe this one was about me.   ...

  Moment   Doubt blankets: The cocoon of disbelief Does not comfort, But it numbs… Yes, it numbs.   Pockets of the yet determined band, Hollow-eyed, But resolute, What burns within these stalwart? Betrayal. Yes, betrayal.   Betrayed by neighbors, By co-workers, By friends, By relations. Betrayed by their stubbornness, By their cling to old habit, To worn ideal, Too stubborn to grow beyond routine, Beyond decrepit bias.   See the hopping oligarch! He has played an ancient fiddle, The masses danced to that hoary tune, And the Republic burns. See the far puppet master! His strings pervade the woven web and Electronic engagements Allow orgiastic entropy entry.   See the bombastic blowhard! See the buffoon bow to every master’s behest. No corporate captain, But captive, he. A sodden sponge attempting to remain afloat, Riddled with soils collected, And always unwashed, Always unwash...

  Payout   I make my obeisance In the Church of the Felonious Infidelity, That I may be accorded some crumbs, And pocket change.   Give unto me thy crypto scheme, That I may sip the electronic essence, And writhe in ecstatic agony, With the release of the Quarterly Report.   O what exquisite torment! May my earnings abound! May coal-fired energies be expended! May the air clog with my gainful returns!   O Mammon! I call to thee! Mayest thou bless me with untaxable lucre! Give unto me proceeds oily! That I may buy an apartment where the air is cleaner.   Thus do I prostrate myself before the corporate altar, A willing acolyte to soiled reward, If it mean An invitation into the occasional limousine.   Wouldst that thou would remove What remains of my conscience, That I might revel in prideful payoff, And think myself a better class of person.   Therefore grant unto me a greater net prof...

  A List Pondered   The “It’s too late now.” The “What have we done?” The “Are you kidding me?” The “I didn’t think he would…”   The insufferable pronouncements. The continuous lies. The trolling Cabinet picks: The sleight of hand.   The “It can’t happen here.” The “He doesn’t mean me.” The “But I have been loyal.” The “How did it come to this?”   The all-encompassing greed. The nagging inferiority. The insistent paranoia. The driving brutality.   The “How is this going so wrong?” The “Wait, what?” The “How did I not see?” The “What do we do now?”   The panting adulation. The faulting emulation. The fawning tyranny. The willing subservience.   The uneducated millions. The uneducated minions. The easily led. The easily duped.   The missed opportunity.   Cliff Lake 11/14/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Lights   Here we are again: a crossroads unseen, What went wrong; confusion descends. Too many reasons for what should not have been, Still, we have yet to see how this all ends.   Why do you wallow in uncertainty, The future was never yours to portend. Why cling to failed earnesty, There is still the message to send.   Take up your burden, our work is not done. Though it may seem your back will no more bend, The hardest task is only begun, And we will gain strength they did not intend.   Put aside sorrow, but remember the tears, Support your neighbor, a stalwart friend! We have resolve, they, only fears, And we on each other will always depend.   Therefore, no longer fall to despair, And do not in anger your energies expend. Lift up that head, get your shoulders square! We have many to assist, and more to defend.   Shoulders to the harness now, there’s a long road ahead, And many bruised sensib...

  Lesserwolf   The sun pales. Its thinning ray illumes, But no longer warms. Darkness comes soon: Cold reality. Now do the wolves hunt. Beware thou weak! Thou tired! Beware thou disheartened! For the pack is set loose, And they are among us. Who would choose this dire? Who has forgotten your need? Would-be wolves, Carrion eaters, Willfully seeking scraps, Thinking they will feast From a repast They will never join. No wolves these! No better than junkyard dogs, Nipping and biting each the other. Or laughing hyenas, Waiting for their share of a kill They could not make for themselves. Bottom-feeders all, Hustling dry bones In the gray light They wanted so badly Thinking to feign larger teeth Than they will ever possess. But the sun may thin, Yet it still shines, And we see the jackals, As clearly as we ever have, And know where the wolves may be found. The sun pales, But the darkness is not complete, ...

  Treebirth   Some time ago in a golden land, Some came to power by heavy hand, And spoke against lessons long told, As fables made by feeble old.   They worshipped gold, they worshipped greed, They hoarded all, created need. They made rulebooks as sacred sign, And called themselves the true divine.   They hid new knowledge behind old fear, They moved progress back every year. Until life for most was stark, Until life for most was dark.   Then their cities reached up on high, Their towers reached beyond the eye. And fields of green were no longer grown, But roads and lots instead were sown.   Then the land was full of towers, Growing in place of lowly flowers. And only some could see the sky, Only those raised up on high.   But those below, they made complain, It seemed they would throw off their chain. But those on high said, “Don’t you see? The sky is hid behind the trees.”   They c...

20 Million Nothings – An Ode to Irresponsibility   The easy decision: Do nothing, Make no choice, Sit it out, And remain blameless. Such pretty lack of compassion! You have no responsibility to others, They make their own choices – Except when those choices are beyond their control. 2025 is here, And you helped to bring it. NO! I will not tolerate your dissemble! To wit: You have abandoned the care of the needy, The elderly, And those that cannot care for themselves. But really, is that your fault? What responsibility have you to they? Remember: you did nothing,   That was the choice, To choose… Nothing. And if the many are moved off this land, And the lettuce and the melons rot in the fields, Will you choose to dirty your hands? Or will you choose as you have: To do nothing. That way it will still remain Not your fault, right? Right? And when the raped child carries her child to term, You remain blameless, Fo...

  One at a Time   This is our last shot: The American Experiment is imperiled, Not just by an aggrieved would-be tyrant, Whose greed is exceeded only by his disdain, His indifference to the struggles of the common, His hatred of anything that does not exalt him. Though he seeming looms large… He is but the face of the menace. For we are imperiled by more: Sycophants of the martinet in high places and low, Bullies and treachers-in-waiting, Subservient to hatred and their twisted desires, Willing to havoc all in service to cruelty and domination. Betrayers of the trust they were born to, Saboteurs and slanderers, Snakes every one. Yet others are taking their shots, Outside influencers manic, For they sense the experiment in peril, And would lend their expertise in chaos, In disorder and disarray, Their own failures evident on the world stage, And would not learn anything from their mistakes, Unless it be how to educate our nation...

  The Arrangement   The agitator had been caught in the early morning. Someone so seemingly well-funded Should have known the coffee shop was under surveillance. Bold as brass, Sitting in the front window, This Enemy of the State went willingly enough, And now sat quietly before the Interrogator. As expected, his answers were too often cryptic, Misleading or Outright lies. His poise remained unshakeable, Bordering on impudence, Even in the face of known whereabouts, Aliases, Operations, And even knowledge of incidents Attributed to him, That were not his. His nerve seemed unshakeable. Expected, yes, but maddening for all of that. One question remained: “Who is funding you so adequately?” The agitator’s eyes flicked to the guards in the room, To the Recorder, Then back to the Interrogator… A tacit gesture, Delivered with a seriousness not worn before. The Interrogator dismissed the guards, Waved the Recorder off. Whe...

  Train of Thoughts   The last train was leaving, The last carload of sense, Carrying what vestige remained Of reason hopelessly clung to, And what remained Was monstrous Savage, Inane, A maze of paranoia and gleeful hallucinate, A carousel turning in upon itself, Twisting in farther to the deep recess of Unsound. The comfort was unbearable. Something in a pit walled off and distantly deep screamed and screamed – the insistence would be forever. He ran through the apartment smashing mirrors - He no longer could stand to see what He no longer knew, A caricature of someone he had been, A madman wearing his face but With the wrong eyes. Still, The descent, This final descent was Fulfilling Or inevitable or Hungered after. He thought they may all be the same thing. He thought he thought… He thought It hurt, He thought It was right, He thought He should stop thinking. If only… The last train was leaving, ...

  Begin the End   November skies graying into view, Ragged clouds and sun flickering over you, The wind sharpening, blowing through, Winter’s bleak taking its cue.   Harvests nearly all collected, Mowers put away, standing neglected, Torsos become sweater protected, Boots in the hallway for weather expected.   Kitchens smelling strongly of spice, Diets forgone for an extra slice, Small extravagances well worth the price, Children observing the list is checked twice.   Candy hoards suffer regular raid, Thick cobwebs cleverly arrayed, Popup frights hidden in shade, In preparation for ghoulish charade.   Cooling air and curling mist, Awaken the temporary occultist, Black clothing on the shortlist, A last fling immodest.   Which party to attend? Which costuming is this year’s trend? How will you this year unbend? How do you welcome October’s end?   The beginning of the end of the year, ...

  Illuminated   When the chemtrails are falling And some stranger comes calling, And your phone reception goes spotty… And the All-Seeing Eye Keeps on passing by, Somebody has the idea you’ve been naughty. And it’s become clear That Templars have been here, Oh no, you’ve been spotted by the Illuminati!   It’s an information beam, Or a Freemason scheme, Or someone equally as dotty. It’s an overlording theme, The secret regime, The covert Illuminatti!   Has your social media Gotten harder to readia, Does it seem like it’s very botty? Has all of your online Turned into all downtime, Have the communications gone knotty? Is there a new signal stream? Are things even stranger than they seem? Are there messages in the manicotti? It’s not imagination, They have your registration! Looks like you’re targeted by the Illuminati!   There’s a space laser beam, There’s always a scheme, Don’t worry that the log...

  Small Hours   Sometimes when night passes into early morning hours, Sometimes when the moon is right, honesty gains power. Memories can come calling across the decades, And I am exposed to the mistakes I have made.   In the brittle AM, my sins can be laid bare, Remembering a youth when life was a dare. Living my life as some action-man had done, Now I wonder who paid the cost of that fun?   I’ve held all the wrong heroes, Across all of my times. False-facing mirrors, Absolving my crimes. Do I speak my mad sorrows Into the night? Or keep on riding Imagined flight?   Do I keep on pretending to accolades earned? Do I forego pride for humbling lessons learned? Do I keep on careening on the cinema ride? Do I accept some regret must pierce my hide?   I’ve held all the wrong heroes, Across all of my times. False-facing mirrors, Absolving my crimes. Do I speak my mad sorrows Into the night? Or keep o...

  Everything   Half-heard conversations, The glance to the thing unseen. Unfamiliar gestures, And talk of the arcane, Ah! Sweet suspicion! Now you know, The things that you don’t know. The hidden meaning in the number set, The clouds that look too right. The car that passes again, then again, The man in the hat looks your way too long, And the birds have not stopped circling all day. Everything is everything. Is that clover you smell? Did the phone ring only twice? Where is your regular mailman? Why is this the third time you’ve heard this song? You’ve gotten that same email, You can’t stop thinking about that one friend, The neighbor’s cat won’t stop staring, And the smell only gets stronger. It’s all happening – Everything is everything. The owl hoots in full day, And a toad crawls from beneath the steps. The pen you lost last year is on the table, Next to three eyelashes. The pictures on the walls tilt slightly left,...

  Entry   When we first got him back, he wasn’t… When we first got him back, he wasn’t. I begged him not to go through the Door? Portal? Dimension? It was none of those things. It was all of those things. But he’d built the machine, Built it too well, Self-contained, Dual everything, And triple the good stuff. His pride and the history of pioneers, Self-testing maniac engineers… There were four of us. When he first turned it on Johnson immediately started to lose it, He just kept getting worse. Eventually he… I should do something with the body. I should do something but Sylvie saw the opening and She’s never coming back here. I hope she is sane enough to make the report. State Department, Defense, somebody… I’m still here. Hoping I can figure out something. When Andrews went in he There was a low moan – It was all the fear I have ever felt In my entire life All at once Concentrated Spoken aloud It m...

  Inferiority   And they will put on the black shirt, And they will polish their boots, And they will punish you, For their inferiority.   You don’t see them, Or you simply don’t notice, But they have seen you, And they’re not happy about it.   Maybe they live down the street, Maybe they’re a few cubicles over. Maybe their car isn’t as new, Maybe they didn’t get that promotion.   Maybe their golf game isn’t as good, Maybe they can’t stop eating all those calories. Maybe their kid can’t hit a curveball, Maybe you married their desperately secret love.   Does it matter what fuels their dark dreams? They have been slighted by your existence. They yearn for the day when they have the power, The day when they can cut loose on you, all legal-like.   And they will put on the black shirt, And they will polish their boots, And they will punish you, For their inferiority.   Who peers through th...

  Terrible Things   He could not speak. He could not speak Because of the terrible things. They hadn’t happened yet. He had to speak. They overwhelmed him, The terrible things. Cataclysms and confrontations, Concatenations of collapse, And catastrophe, And catastrophe, And catastrophe. Terrible things. He could not speak. He had to speak. He had no language. But he could paint. He painted. He painted terrible things. He painted well. He painted terrible things. They thought him mad. They thought him genius. They bought and bought. He painted and painted. And when the first painting happened… They knew. And they knew it was too late. Things were happening. Terrible things. And they asked: “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” And: “How were we to know these were warnings?” But He had no answer. He could not speak.   Cliff Lake 10/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Now What   You put us on this timeline. Don’t you remember? There was a moment. A nexus. You chose. It wasn’t something you could avoid, A choice had to be made. A choice could also have not been made, but That was then, And things could have been worse, yes? You thought so. Now we are here, Because of you, Because of me. I have made choices. Did we jiggle things slightly out of true, you and I? Probably. Did we cancel each other out? Here’s the thing: It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Other choices are being made, In other places, By other people, All the time. And they are all jiggling the mechanism In spite of us. So, I have made a choice: I have chosen To tell you about it. Now what?   Cliff Lake 10/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Proud American   The Proud American marched down my street, With his American Nazi flag, And a scowl for all to greet. And I thought that he had nothing to hide, Unless it was his suppressed Pride.   The Proud American marched past my door, With his Confederate flag, And he shouted, “CIVIL WAR!” He says he wants to make his America great, But to be this bold, He must first lubricate.   The Proud American the Capitol attacked. Going to jail for the criminal Who had already turned his back. The Proud American says he knows the truth. That he has researched at a single website, This Internet sleuth.   The Proud American thinks that memes equal votes, That if he yells often enough, Well, that’s all she wrote. The Proud American spouts other’s opinion, Believing it came from his own brain, And that he’s not just someone’s minion.   The Proud American has all his MAGA gear displayed. Chinese made and o...

  Thin Time   The equinox has passed again. The air cools, The rains sift colder yet, And both light and dark are bent strange. And you anticipate. You anticipate… What? There are things you cannot name, They may be unknown, They may be forgotten, They may be nameless always, Or you may not name them aloud, For that is perilous.   The bristle at the back of the neck, Are you hunted? Are you sought? Will hot breath follow? Or cold exhalation? Which would you rather? In this moment, That choice is not yours. Somethings, Some things that pass unrestricted Between the light and the dark Are not concerned with your preference, no.   Time and permanence are grown diffuse, Fabrics stretched to capacity, Filters unbound and untrue. Disreality closes on the world, And those things seen in the eye’s corner May really be there, Or were, Or are yet, Just beyond vision, Or worse, Understanding. The eq...

  October Winds   October winds. Blowing by, Blowing through. They carry the hints of smoke, And the sacrificial spice of the turning leaf. Have you felt the underchill those winds bring? A presage of colder winds to come, But not yet, Not yet. Have you heard the low whistles in the graying eve? Lonely voicings just around the corner, And always sounding nearer. And do the spirits arrive unbidden, Uncalled, Arriving unseen, And causing the skin to prickle. Or have you wished for their whispers, From some gray unfulfilling, You do not acknowledge in full day? Glad discomforts! Though should you see their eyes… And what voices cry from the skies? Blown from impossible heights, Forlorn calls as if grieving flight. Arrowed and aloft, Heading to warmer feed. Will you follow? Or will you remain, Taking comfort in orange flame in the hearth, Or flowering in the trees for a time… Such short bloomings. All of these are b...

Hope   In the distance the horns sound, And the warm glow of a rising sun Bring hope to the beleaguered, The assailed, The innocents attacked For merely being.   Hear the marching feet! They close upon the goal: Throwing off oppression unasked for, Relief from requirements Made on them from without, The allowance to be themselves, And without interference Foist on them from the unquiet.   Listen to the hearted singing! Gladness made melody, Seeing the numbers, Seeing their smiles, Seeing the determination, And joining the throng. Raise your voice! The chorus only becomes louder!   In the distance the horns sound, And the rising sun brings its warm glow, And the hopes of a united people, Stronger for their hardships, Tempered by their troubles, Are bolstered in kinship, And in the revelation that we are one.   Day is come. Day is come at last.   Cliff Lake 10/19/2024 Copyright © Cl...

  A Promise   What is the urgency? What great fears have you? The internment camps have yet to be built, And you’re probably safe. Probably. Have you signed your loyalty pledge? Not been asked yet? No problem, The order will come soon.   Why so anxious? The Great Deportation has not begun. Not yet. But just in case, Keep your registration number handy.   Has your healthcare vanished? Or your Social Security sun-setted? Never fear! All that is still in the planning stages.   Have any voter rolls been purged? Well, maybe some… But you still have a couple of weeks left, right? Right?   And let’s talk about whose taxes will rise, And whose won’t. Listen, concepts are being planned, Don’t you fret.   Worried about those immigrants getting your free (socialist) benefits? Why, by some accounts, They can feed themselves – and do, Know what I mean?   And what about black and brown ...

  Racing   The final sprint, The stakes outlined in stark contrast, The finish in clear sight… And where will you be? Where will it end?   Can one afford to rest? Is a break needed, Warranted, Is it required? Or is it the latest sign of a stumble?   Oh, the grind! The constant motion! The ceaseless scrutiny! The irregular weave! A heavy burden…   The questions. The interminable questions. The incessant review. A never-ending examination of content, Of motive, Of pronunciation.   Facts, facts, facts! The endless calls for verified facts! Is it not enough to show up? The facts are what you want them to be! The facts are what you need them to be! The fact is – You said what you said, That should be enough for anyone.   Interview after interview, They all feel the same, Until they don’t. Until the rooms are not filled with friends, With allies, With collaborators.   ...

  Hallowed Evening   The observance is upon us again: A reversed imitation of sweets soon given, A mutilation and An emptying. A nightmare born, A gruesome rictus fashioned, Made in glee, Proudly displayed. The rite begins…   Grinning ghouls orange and squat, Stand sided with cousins not yet carved – A ritual still performed with the knife, Children watching, And encouraged to participate. Harvest and sacrifice: Such is the custom.   Doorstop fiends on every porch, Filmy webs waving, Gaunt caricatures in seeming cavort, Hulking beasts cartoonish, Or horrifying, Or something of both, While the husks of the carven are inner lit, And watchful. A communion in frights.   Later, Suspect festivities commence, Games reminiscent of dreads, Mawkish disguises roam darkening streets, Diminutive creatures seeking succor unearned, Unrepaid, Yet expected, And accompanied by vigilant guardians suspicious....

True Horror   When the sun has bowed to the horizon, That slip of orange fire, A menace of near absence in flame, Now the long shadows twist too dark, Animate from sided sight, Groping arms flat in the receding light. Listen to leaves restless without wind, Whisperers of secrets you do not want to hear, A papery chorus made more clear in the dry air, Speaking the chill come too quick. What denial can you offer? In the failing glow What truths hold, And what may be made real, From the recesses of the mind and The dark splashes grounded and grown deep. The hissing leaves tell tales of gray, The wavering glimmers confirm all and nothing, Time is stretching interminable, And all is unfocused in sharp detail: A piercing fog reaching, Enveloping, Surrounding, To carry your understanding away from you, Leaving an empty husk of sensation only. Why do you remain? Is this what you wanted? To be diminished to mere reaction minus awaren...