“the fallen warriors of ALL our souls” — a poem by mil williams
it's the apollo moonshot
it's the manhattan project
and we have to accept we might, yer know ...
but we must try even so:
we can be astronauts of the mind
for this is where i want to go
this is about john forbes nash jr
and what he could sense
and why they put him away
because he couldn't quite evidence his tense that day
and it's what i can sense too
and it's what i sensed in 2002 onwards
and it's why the british and others put me away
but not because i couldn't evidence
what i sensed then or did say
no no no
not at all
rather, i mean, because they didn't want
to let me try
and evidence right and properly
would i be prepared now to die in the attempt?
i'll try not to
because i want to come back and evidence it full
in order to bear witness
to what john forbes nash jr saw in his time
but couldn't prove dear people i say
couldn't prove rightly at all them days
and what i saw from 2002 onwards
and wasn't allowed by the british
and others
to share with anyone
and anything
and after
means i know also
what he couldn't share in his day
with the rest of the people he met and did pray
meaning i know too well
how his best never did find a path
where to shine fine was allowed its trace
outside any kind of wrath
another dimension: one of the mind
one some of us can access
simply via our brains
sometimes poorly so poorly
that the authorities around us
easily incarcerate us
for what we say we see
and what we claim to be
and sometimes so well they may choose to dispose of us too
as if a piece of scrap paper
so scraggy, torn and weary
and nothing more than tatty as hell
and rattier than any role
well now it's going to be
that apollo moonshot revisited
and a new manhattan project too
as we venture forth
as astronauts of the mind for sure
and we may die in the attempt it's true
but by golly we'll surely try not to
because this time we want to evidence it all
for the memory of the fallen warriors of ALL our souls
who died whilst being in the right
and had their light extinguished
by the most trite of all our hearts
where everything was lost
to costs with no value at all at all
and time it is
as time it was
to write the wrongs
and read everyone's rights
for nothing is now to stay the same
and whilst days of yore
brought promises of outcome
and even of judgments deeply felt
the scores we scratch
on sticks of loud
hollow sound
will only now keep metronomic time
if we wish them to rhyme in this way
because life is precious
and starting again
and time it was
and time it's become
for the moonshot again
and the project
of stranger rains
and sometimes it's going to hurt real bad
and sometimes we'll cry as never before:
for sure it will my dears be sad
and maybe seem to be this bad
but if we pursue
with a goodwill of the best
the rest will show us fine
just one thing of grand
and so what it is
and what it will be
is to stand and act out of true charity
now some reflections on the above …
what if all my projects and ideas for #secrecypositive and related … what if they have been attempts — maybe poor, but attempts all the same — to understand real experiences i’ve had and sensed before and since i was unduly incarcerated by the uk for having them and imperfectly expressing them in 2002 onwards?
what if some of us — those of us, for example, who have been, are and will continue to be accused NEVER diagnosed of mental ill-health at some point in our lives — are actually in some fumbling, stumbling way privileged persons able to access some other ways of being?
and what if when they medicate us, we’re having the shutters and drawbridges brought down almost violently on something which could otherwise have been utterly beautiful and radically life-regenerating?
for us all … i mean … what if?
mil's page 