pan
looking through a blade of glass into the birth below, the young pan beheld
a sight he had naught yet seen in the deers since his own rise from the birth.
there, beyond the trimbles and cockatails that grew naught first in that bayou
soup, but in waters of that great grand sliver of ancient egypt; there, deeper
than how to gabri-el had fallen from the city of not live but love (twixt whose
paradox only such sly serpents of wisdom had encircled); there, where ein sof
was yet another egg to be cracked revealing nothing but the void from which
the entire poetsverse had emphentated.
there, here pan saw the dogs convene in attendance absentia. whose shit hits
this sith causing the destruction of deth and the rise of the birth of koli,
god dressed of crestruction. here pan saw the ephemeral pagent of strife. the
movement of to-day and to-morrow from yester into externity. pan saw the poetverse.
and from that movement pan was no longer in that glade of brass, but being
hammered into the heals and soles of that great feat he witnessed while staring
into that fearsome blade. pan was now one of those dogs convening in attendance
demagined. pan had awakened the forbidden mute in whose silence kept the
overstanding of the poetsverse. to he who struck the blade with his inquisitive
rise was bestowed the bitch's birth, her excreation that would so long ago, now,
become sewn as ein sof into the sloth of suprastanding.
legend has it that this soujourn into crestruction enfired our young pan thirty
deers after his rise from the birth. three deers later he became....
Comments: Wrote this sometime shortly after I picked up James Joyce's
Finnegan's Wake. Now I'm not saying I actually read more than a few
paragraphs, but it sounded so beautiful and I liked the way he created new words
to bring meaning to old ones.