Bliss Fly

The message is not mine
I barely understand how
To speak its words.
The language
The symbols
The meaning
Is as diffuse to me
As light through the eyes of a fly.

My ego says I am the fly
Happily crouched
On the wall
Of the universe
My ego says I perceive you rightly,
It readily supplies me with labels
I touch you
And, in my fly-like way,
Spitting and sucking back my emesis
I taste and veriify your essence.
And what do you get?
Why, a label, of course!
A molecule of my saliva!

By the way, you’re welcome.

My ego says you may not disagree. You have been labeled.
Helpless, homeless, hopeless, heartless, feckless, fuckless, liar, cheater, loser, thief;
I will not sully my mouth by speaking my ego’s truth, you put yourself in your own damned place…
I launch into the air, and I feel better already!

My ego says you may not disagree. You have been labeled.
Anarchist, freeman, saint, social butterfly, financial wizard, doctor, lawyer, media face, model citzen, Avatar of something-or-other.
Just another reminder of what I should could would will be.
I won’t take too much, just a taste, or two, or maybe three…

I know who all of you are, I see you through the thousand facets of my fly’s eyes.

The storms of wars and cars and loud guitars,
the bottles and jars and carapace grown from ancient scars.
This practical armor that I polish and display as experiential wisdom,
the cynical intelligence and bravado of beastly bliss that comes
with addiction, delusion and recrimination of
all you other flies with motes in your eyes,
and I remind myself that the beam in my own
is The One constructed of the light of truth,
the architecture of which it is my purpose to defend.

And a question comes to me,
it’s a message and a promise,
and a challenge.
Would I rather be a fly in the eye
of this storm my old pal ego
has defined for me as life?
My oldest friend,
the I of me that gave me my greatest gift;
the end of my childhood, is RIGHT there for me.
I know what will be said,
it’s the staple of ego from time immemorial,
“Ignore that!”

And I do, for a long time.
But the egg has been laid,
and like a bad tooth, it won’t go away.

Whoever said ignorance is bliss
believed himself to be a fly,
believed himself to be living in the thousand-faceted eye,
that if he held to that beam from on high,
there’d be pie in the sky by and by.

And my old pal ego,
is always there to remind me that;
It’s fun to be a hedonist.
Don’t do the math, don’t connect the dots,
don’t bother to try to
articulate, cogitate, assimilate, meditate,
disseminate, or intimate;
not unless it will get you made, paid, or laid.
Otherwise, be very afraid,
or just listen to me, I’ll take care of everything.

Some bliss.
This tepid tryst twists and turns
Sweet ignorance follows a steep curve
of diminishing returns,
I recline along as the ever increasing decline
rockets me into a gravity well that
deposits me not-so-softly into a perfect hell
of my own construction, brick by brick, choice by choice.
A self-built prison of complacent dysfunction.

Bzzzzzzzzzz…
Bzzzzzzzzzz…
Bzzzzzzzzzz…