How, in truth, could there ever be a perfect, just,
and beautiful Union between soulless mates?
“Expropriators of the souls, unite with the soulless!”
was the barbarians’ battle cry.
“It’s the economy, stupid!”
It did not take the materialists in charge of the socialist countries
that long to figure out that, in principle, nothing did or should
prevent them from turning the vast material assets of the socialist state
and nation into their own material wealth. From the material
and materialistic point of view, their decision and calculus
were impeccable. Primitive accumulation and new neo-feudal
primitivism based on the most cynical theft and betrayal was a go.
Both the US and the USSR
or the Soviet Union
loved to sing
and preach and be
of the perfect,
lasting Union
on earth under Heaven
of the perfect, splendid, happy communion
that transforms whoever enters
into its pot, mouth, or cauldron—
magical keyhole,
shaped up like a dream,
the chalice brimming with
alchemic wine—
into the best one can be,
the best ecstatic lover,
the best soldier,
the best astronaut,
or a new Zatopek
who ties up almost any distance
like a piece of art
made of the body
and the human spirit
as far as to the mortals Gods allow
and by which space and time,
fabulously twanged and rippled,
could in awe begin anew.
But with whom?
Oh, with whom?
With whom and how?
Both the US and the Soviet Union
used to woo and teach
of the perfect,
lasting Union
of love, happiness, and bliss
that would come
to anyone who who’d come and join.
Until suddenly, or was it slowly,
a slow numbing & killing off
of its heart and soul,
each of them denied
and denied their own and to be one’s own,
the Soviet Union wasn’t,
wasn’t that one promised Union
or any other
anymore.
Unloved & unloving,
abandoned,
having abandoned
its own soul
which its doctrine didn’t
allow to exist in the least.
Can they—could they ever care—
for what they’d done away with?
“What matters,” these new lovers,
these new unconscious, yet epigonic Lysiai,
would preach on behalf of the new Utopia,
whether now or in the end,
if nothing is
and nothing matters if it’s not
not more,
not more
than matter,
matter soulless
and thus matter dead,
which means that all that’s human & live
dies anyway,
becoming nothing, senseless nothing
where all must for any human end?”
How could such a Union last?
How could a union of soulless lovers last?
How much for a soul?
But whatever is paid, it’s always a fraud,
always way too little
for what it is priceless
as nothing else could ever match
its birthright, cost and worth.
For it’s written: you may denigrate, disown and deny your soul,
even as if without selling her out,
to the devil or any other bidder or buyer,
just by laying her aside forsaken by the road
for the first random thief to carry off your treasure,
but you cannot do that
with no fatal harm or loss to yourself
or to anything you may ever try
and without grossly denigrating yourself
and thus others too
and without deep down disowning yourself
either soon or only a bit later.
But always mortally and deeply.
For no flower can grow and bloom
if its roots are cut or mutilated
as when a teaching of death ousts the songs of souls.
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