10. Trisector

Interference Patterns

All that we see illusory
every assumption based on blind faith alone….
On with the motley, bring it home!

Everything’s formed from particles,
all that you see is a construction of waves.
Hold onto both thoughts,
under general relativity
the cradle connected to the grave.

Luminous Aether dissipates,
Michelson-Morley with a point to disprove,
Millikan oil drops
and the cargo-cult science evaporates,
improbable physics on the move.

Nearer and nearer,
it’s clear that in interference
what happens when matter shatters
is wantonly quantum and nature’s got
some surprises in store right now.

All that we are illusory,
every observance based on physical law.
Only a fool would think us
ready to face with certainty
all that our future’s heading for.

Nearer and nearer,
it’s clearer, we’re only here for an eye-blink,
a psychic mind-trick.
The proofs that we use
are at best projections
but let’s hope they’ll see us through.

The interference patterns help us to know
the gap between a simple „yes” and a „no”,
the heart-felt beat that gets us ready to go
and, as above, we’ll find out what is below
the interference patterns.

The Final Reel

Jack and Gillian, facing their decline,
take to the dance floor for one final time.
Who’d deny them this last shot?
Taking a twirl, are they in the final reel – or not?

Jack and Gillian, walking hand in hand,
disappearing along the shining strand.
Who’d deny them this state of grace?
So we find them with not a single hair out of place,
picture-perfect, matching pace for pace,
her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.
But if you put them on the spot
what would they say?
Are they in the final reel or what?

Sayonara, tschuss, adieu, farewell.
Will we meet again? No-one can tell,
not the manner, not the time.
No-one can hide, no-one leaves the final reel behind.

Jack turns to Gillian, misty-eyed,
and presses the pills in her hand.
All they’ve got left is the downhill slide
so they’d better act while they can.

This much they know, they’re not in the final reel alone.
This much they know, they’ll not leave the final reel alone.
They take the dive, no-one leaves the final reel alive.


I can remember it so well,
the bed of roses where we lay,
the crown of thorns I was so keen to give away.
All the warning signs ignored,
the passion’s played.

I could foresee what was to come,
I had a sense of what might happen.
The river runs and very rapidly
becomes a torrent, sweeping us
towards our ricochet.

It takes a lifetime to unravel all the threads
that have tied us in our webs of tourniquet.

I stake no claim on memory.
I stand on ceremonial quicksand.
I look for something with solidity
to hold:
something lasting, something pristine, with no sense of decay.

Can you remember how that was?
Can you remember?

It takes a lifetime’s understanding of the flow
to surrender, let the current sweep you away.
What if I’d told you I would never let you go,
I would hold you every step along the way.
It takes a lifetime to unlearn all that you know
to return the things you borrowed for a day.

Drop Dead

A charmed circle on the dance floor,
a spell-binding display…
it’s rather more than he bargained for,
Snow White or Morgan le Fay.

„Drop dead”, she said.

Hey, big man, let testosterone flow,
flex the muscles like a monkey.
The male plumage is all puffed up in show
but the girls know how to debunk it.

„Drop dead”, she said.

In a sense
some men are always caught in adolescence,
trying to crack the mystery girl cocoon.
It doesn’t take a wicked witch
to point out obsolescence is a state
they might wake up to pretty soon.
Is it any wonder when they hone that perfect put-down
to deflate the macho tough guy male buffoon?

„Drop dead”, she said.

Only in a Whisper

Dive in to the Motion of the Avatar,
sign up to the Army of the Phantom.
No-one’s really who they say they are,
they’re all imposters on the stand in witness.

Welcome to the Power of Self-deception,
head high in the grip of Holy Deadlock.
Don’t count on the way your days are numbered,
listen to the wind which whips your every word away.

Word-drunk, has the Inquisition found you?
Weight falls on your shoulders, under pressure.
Black dog in the desert heat will hound you –
hang on, only Faith is holding us together.

Dust clouds building up on the horizon,
make way for the onslaught of the Visigoths.
Joined up, all the Automatic Writing –
some thoughts should be spoken only in a whisper.

Take aim on the Summit of Experience,
don’t say we’re just making up the numbers,
lay waste to the idea of an Afterlife.
Some thoughts should be spoken only in a whisper.

Listen to the wind which’ll whip your words away,
listen to the wind that whips your every word away,
scattered as your atoms all will be one day….
Some thoughts should be uttered only in a whisper.

All That Before

I don’t know if I’m cracking up or just getting careless….
is this room quite airless?
Just a minute – listen,
did you hear that knock on the door?

I’m going to have to write things down before I forget them.
I can’t find my glasses, I don’t know where I left them
so I can’t expect to get much on the visionary score,
or did I say all that before?

Oh, stop if you’ve heard this one before I get started.
I can’t find my mobile and I didn’t charge it,
it’s a phantom target,
if I call myself I’ll only get my Voicemail once more.

I wish that I could pin things down before they escaped me.
I can’t find my car keys and it seems that lately
I have trouble even fitting them into the front door…
or did I say all that before?
Oh, stop me if I’m banging on trying to grab your attention.
I forget to mention I can’t find my glasses
but I think I bent them when I dropped them
as I scrabbled for my phone on the floor.

It seems I can’t, I can’t remember,
I can’t remember what I’m doing.

Although I flash that foolish grin
that seemed so winning when I came in
I’m beginning to see everyhting we’ve been
is going to be forgotten.

It’s not a joke,
or did I say that all before I spoke?
It’s not a joke,
or did I say all that before I spoke?

I can’t find myself, what I’m looking for,
and I’ve lost the thread
of what I said before.

Over the Hill

Let’s recount our history,
our tale of boom and bust.
We could talk a good fight on our day
but when we got a hand to play we bit the dust.
Now in our threadbare suits we do our duty,
still sold on the pursuit of a common cause.

Now let us call to memory such witness as we dare.
We built our bridges, burned them down as well,
maybe all we have to tell is off the square.
We tried our instant remedies – they didn’t clear the air.
Who could foresee how it was bound to end,
in a break or in a bend?
We intended well enough….
Oh, but the clock was always counting,
the envelope was sealed
and as the pressure’s mounting
still precious little is revealed.

Still, let us speak of comradeship, of how we stood as one,
shoulder to shoulder through the thick and thin
while the roof was caving in;
although everything begins in good faith,
for all our sins we’ll all end up being skinned
and now there’s nowhere left to run to, there’s nowhere left to hide,
we’re strapped in and we’re gunning for the roller-coaster ride.

If we’re living our lives as though God’s at our shoulders,
if we’re giving of our best, by an effort of will,
then we’ll be up for the test,
we’ll never know when we’re over the hill.

Here comes then bit where we decide no passengers come on this ride –
civilians, the broken-hearted, need not apply.
I count to a thousand and ten, I keep my eyes tight shut and then
unsteadily count the numbers back down again.

Head on into the wind, on a heavenly mission,
try to play with the spin while we burn in our hearts;
although we know we’ll never win we’re still learning our lessons in the dark.

There’s no choice here to make, there’s no easier decision
than to stand up, stand straight and to give it a try
and there’s no time for hesitation as the stations of our lives are passing by.
Heads up and face front as brother to brother,
time to come to the call if we’re true to how we were
because at last and after all we’ve given each other our words.
If we live out our lives as though God’s sat at our shoulders,
if we give of our best and then give some more still,
press on, with no pause for breath,
then we’ll see each other over the hill.

Now if we speak of distances we’re only covering old ground:
what’s done is done and if we have become of worth at all
we’ll hope to see things in the round.
Let’s close the book on history and keep it safe and sound.
While we’ve been moving forward to our goals
we have done as we have told,
so the story’s closed behind us
and the countdown comes in backwards,
that much was always clear,
so when it reaches zero our heroes disappear.

(We are) Not Here

I dreamed you here beside me,
radiant, impulsively strong.
Light streaming through us blindly,
we are not here for long.

I dreamed us from the ether,
bursting through the neural stem,
vibration without meter…
we are not here again.

We are not here again.
(No way to know that when)
We are not here again.
(there is no now in then)

We are not here again.

(We are not there and then we are.
Henceforth we are not here again.)

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