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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476457" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>All These Bottles With S.o.s. Inside</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All these bottles with s.o.s. inside <br>but not a genie in a lamp among them. <br>Occasionally the Cutty Sark <br>in a forty pounder of whiskey, <br>but the masts snap like matchsticks <br>whenever I try to pull them out<br>as if I were trying to give a caesarian <br>to the chrysalis of a dragonfly <br>that got turned around somehow. Too often <br>a viper body surfing the dunes of the Sahara<br>in the hourglass of a gamma ray burst. <br>A lot of starfish that have quit shining <br>that I pick up off this sad, far shore <br>and bury them in the starfish cemetery <br>each in their exact place in a starmap <br>that replicates the constellations perfectly. <br>It's what the enlightened do when they're bored<br>and there hasn't been a word<br>they don't want to hear from anyone <br>for lightyears. All the sages <br>have left the house with Elvis <br>and Morrison's just turned the lights out. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Raw solitude underneath such thin skin.<br>Hush, the flatliners are meditating. <br>They're putting transalpine creases <br>in their theta waves, hoping to levitate<br>like a lifeboat up off the rocks they're scuttled on.<br>Neap tide in the affairs of providence <br>for barges and schooners alike I guess. <br>Met this man once who said he was homeless<br>then gave me his card with a name <br>and a home address, so I asked him <br>if he could spare any change for postage<br>and after that, his mail never came here anymore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just thought I saw a ghost, but now <br>I'm convinced it was only a reflection <br>on the rim of my chromatically aberrated glasses.<br>O, ya, or maybe they're the magic circles I draw<br>around my eyes empowering me to exorcise <br>the apparitions as I please, or spiritual junkmail<br>that lavishes way more on the promise <br>than it budgets to spend on its fulfilment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whenever I want to remember how the truth feels <br>I run the blade of the moon along my tongue <br>and sit in a sacred place where two rivers <br>of lightning join to split the oak, and if the truth heals <br>hope it isn't cruel to realize, even to myself, <br>that most of us are the unrealized simulacra <br>of things in accord with the contradictions <br>of what we once wanted to be. The palettes <br>of the lichens that mixed lunar blues and greens<br>on the rocks, are scattered all over the place <br>around here like folk art in a Zen gallery of minimalists. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What's important, crucial, in fact, when things turn infernal <br>is to observe the protocols of hell if not the content <br>with unparalled grace and distinction. Demon up <br>until you've burned all the slag out of your field of view <br>like asteroids trying to make a big impact on you <br>like a swarm of blackflies buzzing all around you <br>like spy satellites and semi-colons. Until<br>their radios short out. And I'm awash again with stars<br>in the cooling silence of my dispassionate clarity<br>with a wry slash of a smile on the deathmask of my face <br>it would be uncharacteristically ignoble of me <br>to let anybody else see, even if they had <br>the eyes and the mirrors for it because <br>I didn't abandon all hope when I entered here.<br>I transcended it. I got real wicked. And clear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476457" data-title="All These Bottles With S.o.s. Inside de Patrick White" data-description="All these bottles with s.o.s. inside 
but not a genie in a lamp among them. 
Occasionally the Cutty Sark 
in a forty pounder of whiskey, 
but the masts snap like matchsticks 
whenever I try to pull them out
as if I were trying to give a caesarian ..."></div>
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