PART THREE
Walking No Place Special
(1)
In all the world there is nothing more greedy than that vital
force which is responsible for animating all the world – life
itself. The irony of course is that life is dependent for
its continuance upon the processes of death: from human
beings on down to the most elemental organisms, all things gain
and further their existence by making use of the materials
produced by the disintegration of other living things.
It might be said that all of life is parasitic by nature –
even the one-celled plants use energy produced by the burning of
the sun to carry on their activities, and although the sun is not
"alive," it too is governed by similar forces of decay
and rebirth: one star's death eventually contributes to another's
formation. The cosmos bears abundant witness to the transference
of energies from one form of matter to another through the processes
of disintegration and reintegration – processes which,
given enough time, eventually engender that stuff called "life."
It's only the self-reflective quality life acquires via human beings
that imbues it with any moral capacity; it has none on its own.
Nature's greatest law is essentially an amoral one: it states
that energy can neither be gained nor lost, but only changed in
form. Yet there are many who believe that it's only by the
decisions we make using our moral faculty that human beings have
any real hope for survival. Without the proper exercising of
that faculty, they say, towards the earth and towards each other,
we shall surely perish. Then again, there are those who believe
this faculty to be of little importance; of the many decisions we
might make, such people say, it's impossible for any of us to predict
which may ultimately prove to be the right one. The capacity
for moral reflection is thus revealed to be little more than a
sophisticated form of vanity: when all is said and done
the life-force will be shown to have had its way with us,
regardless of how we have tried to direct it. Should some
devastation to the human species occur, it will result in nothing
more than a minor reordering of nature – which, like the
phoenix, suffers obliteration only to rise from its funeral byre once
again. There are also those who, by substituting for the
life-force some humanly created symbol or metaphor for that force
– most commonly, a god or gods – would find a kind of
glory in devastation, for in its calamitous wake they would see
an extinguishing of all vanity, by which they mean the belief in
any and all moral precepts which are not their own. In the
eyes of such a man or woman do the fires of another's hell burn bright.
Throughout history there have always been diseases which, being
sexually transmitted, bring death where a celebration of the
life-force would otherwise have been intended. The most recent
of these has, over the past several decades, swept the globe and left
tens of millions dead in its wake. It's been particularly
devastating to the homosexual community, whose sexual practices give
the disease one of its more widely traveled avenues of transmission.
There are those religious zealots who proclaim this to be a form of
"divine retribution," for they believe homosexuality to be
a sin, punishable through the vengeance of a wrathful God. There
are even those homosexuals who, in the shadows of their hearts, may
agree with them, partly because they have been told of their sinfulness
so often that they have come to believe in its validity themselves,
and partly because of the fact that they have sought their sexual
partners not in their opposites, but in their twins. And this, they
may believe somewhere in the shadows of their hearts, is vanity indeed.
But life goes on, regardless. Life will always go on,
regardless. Here, in my own small town, spring has given way to
summer. The days grow slowly hotter; the nights begin to lose
their cool freshness. The trees are now fully leaved and heavy
with green. The slow ripening begins. Already the spring
flowers have gone to seed.
PLAGUE
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the bath water is warm
as another me
the summer night air is warmer
and sticky
it is not indifferent
as i walk down the street
it feels like the swarm
of a thousand flying beetles
biting my skin
sweat prickles me
my arms are heavy with years
my phallus is heavy and drippy at my thigh
young men, young men
where are you, where are you?
i want your mouths, your tongues, your assholes
now
now
now
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