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Four Stanzas from THE ORGANS OF ROMANCE, being a Treatise on Human Nature and the Virtues of Delight

April 24, 2012
by

Herein you shall become freshly acquainted with the pleasures of my newest work, that being the finely and assiduously crafted stanzas of the philosophical treatise on Man and Mankind tentatively entitled The Organs of Romance. Dozens of texts from the 19th and 18th centuries, those most wondrous of all the centuries, have been combined in various combinations for your enlargement–philisophical and poetical works, medical texts and studies of nature, and fantastic tales of adventure and travel–i.e. the very substances that, combined, sustain the very Soul of man, and the very same substances which, when combined it other proportions, may be fashioned into what those wise heathens of the East call the roots of endless suffering. Enjoy!

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Four Stanzas from The Organs of Romance

Sometimes, the same in all the passions, there
Arises love, the goodness of the mind.
Sometimes, obliterated, beauty makes
A garment of the mind arising from
The sun in lustre. Only when the sky
Itself—conveying certain shape, the stars
And their desire who expand the love
Our bodies feel with vast spirits of
Delight, of beauty, of bold passions and
Affections of the southern skies, in view
beyond the sun’s aurora and rebound—
Precipitates convulsions, visions of
The sun’s lustre, will some attach themselves
To light evolving outside themselves
So that they may enjoy, delineate
The mind, and its enjoyments they’ll perform.

.  .  .

Suppose a thought arose: an image comes
Upon some other given object; but
The motion of the mind—a tempest, an
Enchantment and exaggerations—makes
A river; we become acquainted with
The sound, the active power, and the waste,
Its swell: the most perfect in its perfect
Expression of the river and the sea,
The most perfect in its effect: a great
Renunciation of the distant air,
Abstractions like the well. The river is
Again present before the knowing mind,
For which the inward wealth—the murmur of
The universe and inspirations of
Her children—will remain in our concern
Beyond ourselves, remain in paradise.

.  .  .

The imperfection of ideas is
Connected to the inward structure of
The mind, its motions we’ve denied. The brook’s
Arrangements, mixtures of the blood, and strange
Creations of the will in man beneath
The skin, the most directly happy as
A fact existing everywhere. The stream
At evening, fasting, drinking, denying
A real relation to the tongue. The eyes
Themselves conveys a certain light in the
Electric body, and perceptions in
The head, which grow in power, but only
As it appears on the surface, to seem
Majestic in the objects we enjoy.
In other words, the cattle of the mind
Require an external universe.

.  .  .

The human race in May between their lips
Were crossed. “Explain yourself, hermaphrodite!”
Mankind’s complete relief from human life
Exists in an erect position, so
Unbounded, so completely billowed by
The blood refreshed, seductive Valentines!
“The Germans lack a jackal,” I exclaim,
Embracing distant countries, recent tears
In all their cruelty that enraptures me.
The conscious agent, with her rays in lengths
Extending over many miles, until
mankind becomes erect, the lower limbs
engaging still in human fellowship,
Its deep, profound ravines, in drinking our
Desires with our tongues and vocal cords,
The white precipitate like solar beams.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. April 26, 2012 5:29 pm

    You got it, e. Keep doing what you’re doing.

    p.s. I got a big bump next to “cautiousness” for some reason. “Explain yourself, hermaphrodite!”

    • eRoGK7 permalink*
      April 27, 2012 9:47 am

      Thanks, edde. I got bashed in the forehead right around memory and individuality when I four years old. Maybe that’s why I’ve never figured out who I am, and why I keep forgetting myself.

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