Echoes from the invocation reverberate
As the cacophony of voices fill the space
With songs that venerate
The journey to the edge
When I speak of evil, I’m not speaking of moral degeneracy but an excess – an excess in energy, in passion, in curiosity, in desire, in ambition….
The type of excess that never reaches its catharsis and finitude, and in some cases, spirals down into the bowels of existence.
As the traveler descends down
The choir of echoes begin to wane
No longer comforted by the communal rites
The traveler begins to truly journey alone
It is the evil that harkens back to childhood, to an innocence that gave way to this excess. Unencumbered by societal constraints, the child freely lets his imagination run free and stretches it beyond its limits.
Rimbaud once stated that genius is a return to childhood. The genius is said to be possessed by a daimon or has an attending spirit that accounts for his uncanny perception.
As echoes cease their litanies
The traveler feels naked
And opened to be consumed by whatever awaits him
But there’s no destination…
The path of evil has no justification for its existence. It just is and it’s compelled to fulfill its will and expend its energy, as it has no other mode.
It seems to be in contention with death but instead it runs hand-in-hand with it as evil courts and flirts with destruction and disaster, tempting death to quell its expenditure.
In realizing that there’s no destination
The traveler realizes the freedom he possess
He’s a true sovereign
With that, he can go anywhere he desires
I don’t want to produce literature. I want to write litanies of evil with words that don’t signify but rather embody meaning. Words that evoke imagery and feelings from the foreign place that happens to reside from within.