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God Is Dread
by Sudeep Adhikari



Yes, I want to read me the Tao Te Ching

today. Or some Gödel, Heisenberg, and absurd Zen koans

I am bored, please electrify me with

antinomies and mind-fucks. The day has gone too

straight; it is too Coldplay.



I hang my world by the gossamer void 

I churn senses, from the flux of campus shootings,

failing dams, and the soil that melts like

skin of a zombie in some B-grade Hollywood flick.



I am not complaining. I am just playing an archdiocese

of my existential territory , on a day that stretches like a

global-warming debate on internet.


And believe me, it is still better than kissing ass

of a self-help guru, reading a truly depressing inspirational

quote on Facebook, or doing any other philosophical

gymnastics on ethics or meaning of life.



But you know what? I know a face which has not

learned  to pretend yet. And that will do fine

to make  a God from the porcelain of my rosy dreads.



a line, (a blue one)


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