Beyond the Veil

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish’ they howl
‘can’t wait for that old dinosaur to die’
well now, you’re in a hurry to wish death upon
someone whose viewpoint you do not share
but what are you wishing for?
beyond decomposition of the flesh, then what?
where it all goes; the spark, the consciousness, the energy?
you could be wishing your imagined foe into greater power
than ever before

You wish for disharmony, you bring it upon yourself
those you curse find peace before you, the curser
no one is fated to be here long
learn and grow here whilst you can
death is change, and change is the only constant
tension of life to relaxation of death
le petit mort is enjoyed in life, and the huge orgasm at death;
the point of transition to the next realm

Those who spit bitter curses in the dark
merely design their own dungeons
you think you can hurt someone with death?
or reach them beyond the veil?
you can choose your path, so choose wisely

The Dream

By Thomas Caterer

Hating the fake is the shadow of loving the real
feel no shame is despising lies, false tears
they make a mockery of what sincerity bled to earn

Be willing to see truth, to hear the path
I prostrate myself, taste the earth,
feel bugs crawl along my exposed skin

I’ve jumped at enough shadows,
cowered from enough growls and shrieks
cast down thine idols;
idols of stone, of metal, of flesh and bone

If I say I am ready it must be true, no?
I submit, I surrender, I offer to serve
I seek a path to follow, and will follow with all sincerity
the spirits and the gods, the loving energy
that share the dream; the cessation of all suffering
for all beings

Magnum Opus

By Thomas Caterer

With gentle reverence
Knees bent, head lowered
The memory is placed into the chalice
The contents glittering, shimmering
A memory profound to its owner
A moment in time, captured
like a fragile butterfly in a grasping net
It flutters solemnly
Wings beat a soothing rhythm
A moment in time placed into your
Magnum opus, your art, your expression
Now it can have a life still
Even after your bones are dust

The God of Change

The god of change is the god of death
I am here to serve
I am here to serve

The restless spirit is roaming, roving, writhing
And booze won’t calm it down
And drugs won’t calm it down
And sex won’t calm it down
The restless spirit is crying out, tormented
Pleading to gods, who don’t yet answer

The god of death is the god of change
I want to serve
I need to serve

This life’s but a moment in an endless sea
the blink of an eye
all this fuss we make for a moment
for a blink of an eye
all the tears we shed just for this

The god of change is the god of life
The god of change rules in both domains
I will serve, it’s inevitable in the end

Organised Fun is the Best Fun

By Thomas Caterer

The righteous and indignant youth
survey their surroundings
They’ve not been here long
Fresh still
They accurately surmise;
‘It’s all fucked, everything here is fucked’

Spirits dropped onto another plain
Spirits dropped into another game
Kind and cruel, good and evil, together again
Bound again to build cultures,
civilisations, communities

The body and its needs are a distraction
Distracting from attempts at escape
Escape or growth?
And yet when I feel outside of mine
I plead for the gods to kindly put me safely back in
Just because nothing matters
doesn’t mean things don’t matter

Goldilocks, Guangxi, and Straight Whiskey

An existential panic
in a Japanese restaurant
pacing up and down
standing up, sitting down

Later a friend reassured me
‘you think you’re just flesh and bones?’
He said he didn’t fear death; as in the void
rather the punishment for his sins

If I can be convinced of a spirit realm
even the malevolent ones can give comfort
for what their existence implies

When I feel stressed I think of the Goldilock’s principle,
the double slit, the hard problem, and unanswerable whys
I try to calm down without relying on intoxication
drinks yes but also images; explicit, and addicting

I read about Guangxi in the Sixties
and was depressed for days
how could human treat humans that way?
How can such evil exist?

I need to believe consciousness and spirit are central to the cosmos
I need to believe good and love will triumph
I need to believe there is justice, and peace to be found
otherwise the game’s not worth the candle

And then I’ll buy a rope, a hero’s cape, and set a screen to explicit
for wrist slashing is too dramatic, too much of a pain barrier to overcome

Charlie Boy

By Thomas Caterer

Charlie boy, he walks out of the club
a big lad, danced not quite majestically
but joyfully bounced as erratic limbs
floundered and flailed

A smirking man in the smoking area
smiles cruelly in his direction
a cutting remark on good lad Charlie’s body
or dance moves or something
elicits mirth from the surrounding sycophants

Charlie smiles warmly and approaches Smirker
puts an arm on his shoulder, Smirker’s surprised
‘listen son, it’s no good is it eh? This mean-spirited lark?
You’re missing out on a chance to grow, there’s a tonne of
spiritual work ahead for you eh? But you gotta give it up, to be so
mean of spirit, it won’t help you or anyone, son’

Charlie goes back in for bass and beer
and to dance freely, unburdened; Zen raving
Smirker feels a chill roll down his spine
his face burns red, ‘faggot’ he spits
the sheep snigger

Ben Gives Julia Flowers

Ben hands over a bouquet of flowers
placing them carefully into Julia’s hands
‘women like flowers right?
they remind you of death
but you don’t fear it like men do
women are real troopers like that’

Julia lifts them to her nose, takes an approving sniff
Ben remarks;
‘they say women like flowers because they like
to be reminded of their mortality, they don’t fear entropy,
not the way men do’

‘Who are they?’ she asks
‘you know, they, the people.
the cycle plays out, we all have a short time here
just the like the flowers, we can all be beautiful
expressions of life for a while, then we wither and die
just like the flowers
They say women like them for these reasons and more
they like the transience’

‘Thank you’ says Julia grimacing as she takes the flowers
‘least I can do’ Ben smiles and adds ‘you’re the ones who go
through giving birth, and menstruation, what warriors eh?
Least I can do, to express my appreciation for it all’ Julia places them in a vase with water
she sighs at the sight of a fallen petal
‘already beginning the end I see
Shoulda got me a bloody cactus instead’

Inevitable

Why are you bothered about death
if you’re such a Buddhist?
Scared that if embodied beings can be malevolent
as well as benevolent
the same can be said for disembodied beings?
That is a troubling thought

For all the pain, suffering, and senseless cruelty
of this world
I still find a lot I love about this world
and do not want to leave it
nor leave my body
and yet I am becoming more profoundly aware
that one day I will die

It hits harder now after a series of death panics
and the disturbing sensation of being out
of one’s body, occurring increasingly frequently
that yes it is true, your body will rot, and your
consciousness will be unceremoniously ripped
from your precious flesh
it is inevitable
always in the end, inevitable

Nothing

By Thomas Caterer

I was in a club called DEF in Japan
I tried talking to the barmaid about death
She asked why I was thinking about that
I replied I always am
I thought of a friend from way back when
I can’t think of anything profound to say about it now
He should be here
He’s not
Well, I see all these young dancing people
The kids are happy
That makes me happy
French kissing and vibrant sexual energy
Who could ever want to hurt them?
I want to protect them
I think of those who’d want to hurt them
and feel angry
They, like us all, are children of god
Manifestations of the divine
and they may not know it yet
but bless them, they are so afraid
We are all here in our ape shape
Beings of consciousness
Siblings in the cosmos
Let us choose love and compassion
I think of my friend, gone too soon
I have nothing profound to say about it
I have nothing