the light interplays
on the dark of the trees
the creak of the moors
the salty sea breeze
  tranquility --
    at last.

electric torches
left and right
burning! burning!
colossal ideas grasped
as of the three blind men
not fully comprehended, vanished

the illusions of career
rent seeking to lend prestige
to the professors, lawyers, engineers
all around some venerable decay
and de novo -- the light bursting from your mind
but can it be followed? can it be controlled? harnessed?
the path is rocky -- your steps falter
  you are behind a renter now
    walking down the broad avenue of conformity

the treasures of the human race
are found beyond the fields where many have harvested
near the forests, the liminal meadows, uncertain bogs
here are golden cups and rubies
yet the well lit halls and stately courts are barren, hollow

richard halley play again your concerto
i should like to hear a work of genius
  not exalted as such, but rather, marketed to no one
for the masses cannot understand
galt's gulch is everywhere
joshua bell play that violin
on the subway
and no one will hear
not because people are ignorant
ghosts with needs, welfare and warfare,
  a small hostility to liberty and a great hostility to individuality --
turing died alone,
  punished for his love of men
    a genius, snow white, pure, who bit the poisoned apple
of "society", britannia, some nebulous non-existence
  an illusion in the minds not of lesser beings,
    but of automatons.

humanity has innumerable flaws
but the only flaw in individuals
  is any implicit belief we give to society, customs,
frankly, anyone but oneself,
  as emerson said, man is his own star,
watch the gleam of light that flashes across the mind from within --
  it is a nobler world to live in,
    that honors others and oneself for that spark --
      but truly, it is the only route to life.

the ghosts of people
live according to the whims of others
and so their essence, in being spread, diminishes
as animals swimming blindly up towards the light
they look to superficiality, appearance, status, materials,
  and so they are copies of their most supreme form
the ruler of the world -- the state -- the glorification of leisure and idleness,
  the monopoly with its rent seekers and their mild and unchallenging lives,
    a blandly attractive specimen, old money from old bloodlines, throughgoing unoriginal orthodoxy.
for the greater part the people in clubs, going to bars, having conventional homes and lives,
  fade
as ghosts, for lack of love of themselves.

so i advise
always
trust yourself
always
pierce the fog, complexity, and chaos
for that sparkle of gold,
that glimmer of light
  that flashes through the mind
pulling you towards the new,
god said ehyeh-asher-ehyeh,
  and to respect yourself,
    you too must be who you are.

 - connelly barnes, "one", 2012-03-07