A fractal Oracle-Fugue of the genre contrapunctus ad absurdum
raises from his Lordship’s illuminated brain.
Tragedy is born.
A liveried guenon stepped out of the darkness with a silver tray and raised the serving bell with bent dignity. I expected the head of Jochanaan for pudding and was surprised by a colourful brain on a bed of chicory with radicchio, illuminated by phosphorescent floods of thoughts.
„Would you allow me: the Lord’s dreams,“ introduced the butler. „Today on the main channel: an Oracle-Fugue, of the genre contrapunctus ad absurdum, his Lordship‘s favourite dream-playing technique. I wish you rapturous delight, and with your permission take my leave.“
The curtains engulfed the liveried guenon in their wine-red tent. And thus spoke the Lord’s brain into the shadows of the night.
Editor‘s note: I am regrettably not permitted to utter self-referential marginal notes concerning the prophetic life of my own brain. Inquisitive readers are therefore friendly relegated to the swarm intelligence. Grateful for an insightful nod, Lord A.
Eyesome cat! Thirsty like a crab in full moon‘s howling,
You ask the stars with bright green eyes: why and how?
Frogs extol the foam-born goddess in the meres,
Beauty turned to love in sea’s bountiful tears.
Lucifer they call her in front of morning‘s dewy mirror –
Hesperus, as hand in hand, doves amble to vesperine chimes;
And Phosphorus, that cold fire from Brand‘s alchemical jerry,
Lights up blue eyed on the First House’s balmy balcony.
Halved round cat! Your eyes languish so sea green, for
Gently, the orange box appears at your longing’s vanishing point.
Crown of the surf, she sails smoothly on the spell of agogics,
Mellows to dewy late vine in the shades of Heaven’s arbor.
You will behold her afar, and to life never return, for the
Desert will wander to the mythical haven’s briny blue.
Sunny omens, mid-air swiftly swerved to the left, will grasp
The gloomy perspective of the frog drawing a lute.
Longing eyes! The droughty crab howls in the green;
How? He asks the moon with grace, and why? the stars.
Ran to foam, love extols the frogs in the meres,
Sea’s bountiful tears devour devinely beautiful fruit.
You, mercurial friend of the fatally enamoured Veronese,
Tie your winged sandals and lead the dreaming tomcat!
Roots will sprout and houses crumble; desolation will blow
where moody mulberries imbibed loving blood.
Halved round cat! Full moon greens in your eyes,
How? and why? blur in a fainting agogic spell.
You mellowed to dewy vine in the shade of an orange crown,
And now foam with longing in ocean‘s bountiful tears.
She will behold you on the line that severs the sea from the skies,
Why? and how? she will ask, dither agogically and freeze.
Three times will the lion bemoan in the temple and the goat be milked,
Three times will the fish be coated in flour – and the rest is cadence.
The dream lights just ebbed out of the silver plate as the butler sneaked up swiftly. Illuminated with star drops, the blanket of cornflower blue brocade descended over the cage of the sleeping cockatoo. As the cooling brain was carried away under the serving bell, a divining card on the table caught my eye. A nod of the guenon affirmed my gaze. I picked it up and hurried out into the moonlight breeze.
The birth of Tragedy
Special thanks to Brenda Landes for her diligent proofreading of this english translation.
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