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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Don't Want To Embroider This Straitjacket Of Killer Bees</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I don't want to embroider this straitjacket of killer bees <br>with threads of blood, honey and toxin. I can't stand <br>the agony, but I don't want to lie nostalgically <br>about what's happening to me as it is everyone <br>to dull the pain with the delusional sugars <br>of an artificial paradise where all the stars are tinfoil.<br>Sooner succumb with integrity, than subsist<br>in the shadow of a lie that buffs the experience<br>as if churning coke in a hive of angry wildflowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Half mad with pain I've become so accustomed to, <br>enculturated by out of the corner of my third eye<br>as if this were a state of affairs normal as oxygen<br>for everything that lives, and everything, even the rocks<br>I've been pushing up this hill since I was born <br>like Sisyphus to build a pyramid out of an avalanche<br>of meteoric cornerstones that keep getting away from me <br>like the quicksand and mercury that have tainted my sacred pools, <br>I don't want to lose my marbles in this game of Russian roulette. <br>I don't want to give up like gravity on any habitable planet <br>and come unravelled like a lunar cloud of unknowing <br>or an atmosphere evaporating into the abyss<br>of a vast space as if I couldn't hold on to my breath long enough<br>to bubble up from the bottom again like a pearl diver<br>with a new moon in his hand and a knife in his teeth <br>he bites down hard on to ensure its not a counterfeit smile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Anyone can walk their mile standing up <br>but who knows how to fall for light years <br>and never come to a stop within themselves <br>where their hearts are exposed to the stingers of the stars <br>that approach them like tattoo artists on a binge. <br>Whether I'm waning or waxing, or just being taken in again <br>by a snake oil salesmen promoting a dragon of bliss <br>with stitches in his eyes, I don't want to be unhinged <br>like a gate that thinks it's a bird without a flight feather.<br>O I dream, I speculate, I ruminate and scry. <br>I wonder what it would be like to live in a world <br>where nothing cries out for anything it's missing, <br>or counts its blessings on a rosary of tears and skulls <br>that know all ninety-nine names of God, but not the one <br>she likes to go by when she's slumming with you personally.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> It's far too crucial to me, to the spiritual footing<br>of this palace of stars I'm trying to raise like a tent in the sky<br>of an hourglass sharing drinks with itself <br>like housewells in a mirage inspired by life in the desert. <br>It's easy to be kind-hearted to your delusions, <br>but it's altogether another mode of upended discipline <br>to be brutal about enlightenment until your eyes thaw <br>and your glacial heart begins to move on its own melting<br>and unnamed fathomless lakes are gouged out of your mindscape <br>like a new cosmology of seeing that perfectly reflects <br>your being like stars in a firmament of illuminating flaws.</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=476628" data-title="I Don't Want To Embroider This Straitjacket Of Killer Bees de Patrick White" data-description="I don't want to embroider this straitjacket of killer bees 
with threads of blood, honey and toxin. I can't stand 
the agony, but I don't want to lie nostalgically 
about what's happening to me as it is everyone 
to dull the pain with the delusion..."></div>
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