“There was a merciless gnawing in my chest, a queer silent labor was going on in there. I pictured a score of nice teeny-weeny animals that cocked their heads to one side and gnawed a bit, then cocked their heads to the other side and gnawed a bit, lay perfectly still for a moment, then began anew and bored their way in without a sound and without haste, leaving empty stretches behind them wherever they went.”
― Knut Hamsun, Hunger
In the beginning was Desire
An eternal wanting
A craving that comes wrapped in a God- shaped hole
A coming together of egg and sperms
Shooting sparks from embers of creation into Obsession
A flaming drive combusts,
Desires more, must burn more, has unquenchable wants.
That frontier drive when
God sent destiny to take more than was needed
A drive to where, to what end,
We must get somewhere fast
Or burrow down, and the push to escape, to hide, to cover up these raw truths.
A revelation of unbridled ambitions,
Births an embarrassment of riches, and
Herds of wild horses are shamed by their unbound privilege
Running free when loss is all around us
The shame drives the want inside.
So we hide behind the masks we make
Masks that cover the faces that we wear just to get through a day
Masks that dampen the sounds of the gnawing inside
Our hidden beast that we feed scraps
is a manifestation of our extreme hunger
Even the very idea of hunger
is vast and mewling.
It becomes worse in what seems like
The endless night
You can’t sleep - sleep is denied tonight.
Is your mind overcome with visions that disturb your slumber?
No, just a download of useless details
You are Literally drowning in yourself
Crawling with this infestation of memory and observation
At the core, the Queen is still.
Is she still alive? Is she sleeping?
The worker bees, ants, wings and legs
Moving together as one, now in the throws of death
Their craving of nectar is killing them
They were programmed to collect, to build,
to serve and protect the monarch who will survive for another day.
But the drones are doomed to be echoes of their former zeal
They have reached their end
There are no second acts for this group
Their parts have been played and slowly,
Slowly, one by one, they stop moving.
Time doesn’t stop
Time is infinite and unknowable
When we are young there is so much time
And we grow
Expand our minds
Push further to the Horizons
We play in the glow of
The double rainbow.
But sooner than we can imagine, there comes the day
when more becomes too much.
And there is a reckoning
And through great efforts,
Even Heroic efforts,
Change happens even when unwanted
Change is forced
Not through revolution
but witness the building of a better monster
This time the creature will listen and learn.
Inside the creature, there are all the same old parts
Just shuffled and juggled, and glued in different ways
There is a desire to create
or is it an act of salvage?
You have your damned restart
You get the best makeover money can buy
You are expected to build a better person
Expected to take the disparate parts
And heal and mold them into a new golem.
So you reflect, and review and slowly you become the new you
The better you
And while the transformation is fresh and not yet complete,
you can feel your bones growing back together
You can see the wounds are healing,
and you are learning to recognize a new person in the mirror
You have changed
On the surface
You have changed
And now you think about what needs to change on the inside
To make these outward changes take effect
To makes the changes reflective of more than just another healing phase.
And you think about what and who you want to be
And once again
You are back at the beginning
You are back to want