|Posted by Mark Cantrell on November 28, 2015 at 1:10 PM|
Think On Fleshly Pleasure
A Prose Poem
By Mark Cantrell
There is little to be gained from the hard cruel word of make-believe; this world and the sub-sentient hominids that pass for man have little inclination or intellect for the higher pursuits of sensual cognition.
Only the data-flux animality of the raw senses and nerves, of electrons flooding the matrix of the lower lobes ever manages to stir their capacity for existence.
Beyond the dark recesses of a vestigial evolutionary relic, they leave the vast labyrinth of the higher mind, still-born, shroud- wrapped in the bubble-pack of disinterest-born obsolescence.
Such is the mind, of a kind, of those that pass for man. Pity, for should they pass their animal passion into the halls of higher sense and reason, such magnitude of sensual enhancement might be there’s to savour.
Herein, the Higher Plane is not just the seat of reason, but the scope to amplify the pleasures of the flesh that are but nought without the thought of sentient care to season and savour the thrumming meat and bone drummed in lower mind’s sybaritic rhythm.
Such are they, the ones born to deny all that resides in the abandoned domain that might have been known, but for the failure of imagination, the ill-spent spark of Self, that lurks, lost, unforeseen, un-witnessed in the dark of a sentient Mind seldom used.
So do they fail to truly delve the animal vitality, the fruitful fulmination of the vices of the vivacious flesh, the supercharged crackle of the passions and lusts that might all told raise them up beyond mere carbon.
Unbind the flesh; castigate the void of fettered instinct; mull on the seasoned wine of blood and bone; let loose the soul; savour it all the more for its orgiastic dancing in the mirrored halls of mental reflection.
Be ever thoughtful in the divination of the salacious sins of skin...
24 December 2008
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