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Matt Hein / Poetry / Subconscious / | |
| Hacking into reality. Hacking into reality. Written 05-20-03 By M. Aaron Hein. Well, here’s another poem I composed based on the merits of hacking and the ultimate question of life imposed on so many facets of the spiritual and academic society ‘what is its inherent purpose?’! As set forth by scientific doctrine, (and perhaps instituted by god) it is a common fact that an answer cannot be simply provided on a silver platter, but in a taunting manner hinted so that mankind by themselves can derive it from the few resources on hand. This is a veracious hallmark of human genuity! But true knowledge of life cannot be truly ascertained without meditation, to ponder on the meaning of existence, hence, a spiritual pilgrimge, or in a human case ‘hack’. However, in Rezka’s case this is entirely different, leading us to the question; Is existence truely as we perceive it, or is it simply a central, efferent projection from an undefined source? Read Anachronistic Skies, chapters Five, New and Past Animosities through Six, revelations and city and theorize for yourself. To this day, even as I peer from that window, its panes reflecting upon the starry night glinting, the full moon illuminate seas clear and fields still, there still resides a thought within me of those days I had ventured endlessly, both in thought and in purpose until I had reached that apogee, that point of finality the breaking between two worlds, between my life and synthetic reality let me tell you how I really cannot say they interwine, perchance through my thoughts, it’s a creation of spirits divine, I had been with it once, trangressing those borders, hopeful to find my own sense of reassurance pressing those sectors, those quarters... but it never arrived, not to land like some angelic parcel upon my doorstep, a silver platter perhaps, laden with knowledge and concepts but no...nothing perhaps that’s the simple epitome of faith, to pursue that which does not exist, or theoreticaly does? To look for the answer and find it inscribed, ingrained not within text, but in spirit, perhaps? Or as a product of intuition, later to be explained it’s the way god planned it, wholeheartedly pained however, I progressed, weary, torn, bleeding, and I took the alternate venue anyway trudging through that spiritual snow, blinding to the senses, chilling to the skin, like needles and sand to the eyes from the howling desert wind paltry, fiery, its essence burdening and tiring hopping from one reality to the other, perchance from some memories fleeing chasing that shadow I had thought to hold the solution the truth behind the dust laden and torn cover but in nonsense absolution... but no... he revealed nothing more than an enigma, inextricable, polycentric, the perpetual argument to some others than myself, positively eccentric an endless and twisting path which in its nature could, maybe would never end, a labyrinth to those who would bother to transcend, but seeking the answers, I decided to tread through that unforgiving pit and to the domicile of the enemy, descend but my soul, my hacking remained the string, the rope, which would lead me to the altar the central point, a mainframe, a central beacon, a nectar, a fruit of truth perhaps, or... nothing but my reflection stood in that center...the fluttering of a feature, a flash of the sun led through it, leading me to my destination life on its own was real, fabricated to test faith, to test the fassibility of free will and succeeded greatly, hence, the hacker, myself valued, greatly to alter those laws in a moment sacred, maybe to investigate, to derive truths necessitated, insanely but why to realize morals lie in their respective hues? my results, We’re all a pawn somewhere along our life, a board, some said we;re even animals given guns, weapons to play the game of war, hence, to ram our horns at each other, to take gun and sword against our brothers hell, according to the system, it’s all an elaborate stage play somewhere in the map, in theoretics we’re all actors, musicians with a knack for blowing those trumpets of war and in speeches nothing spouting as nothing more than hacks rabid, vapid, full of resent and furor, or passionate, romantic, rambling on about the future? Maybe I’ll take the latter, free will over submission that’s the way god wants it, to proliferate it his personal mission that’s what I found it boils down to faith, integrity, fidelity, trangressing life’s border like the fin of a shark, cutting through uncharted waters, piercing with a wolf’s bark oceans set by man, yet horizons boundless through the subconscious, crossing the sunset into the reaches of the moon, the eyes of the gull, life was real then...and such pondering must have been bull... or was it simple...a trial, an ordeal meant to seduce and control? to myself, of course... god’s purpose is to show us light, but never provide, as with man’s integrity, to capacitate ambition will lead us to eventually within truth reside fin... |
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