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Finally Nothing --

by seanfarragher 

Posted: 22 June 2005
Word Count: 550
Summary: “All roads are blocked to a philosophy which reduces everything to the word “no.” To “no” there is only one answer and that is “yes.” Nihilism has no substance. There is no such thing as nothingness, and zero does not exist. Everything is something. Nothing is nothing. Man lives more by affirmation than by bread.” Victor Hugo (1802–85), French poet, dramatist, novelist. Les Misérables, pt. 2, bk. 7, ch. 6 (1862)

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Content Warning
This piece and/or subsequent comments may contain strong language.

Finally Nothing
By Sean Farragher

Sociopath and monolichen carry the lens from eye to sign
of the cross. Murder does its own song. It is a rascal in spread
when Blood Rivers raid the banks of memory for lions with teeth
rasped at the ordinary death of predator and victim. We are
victims in that dour success, when light broken as it will be
has no heaven above and no rules, laws or mercy to modulate
the little songs perking from the mouth of lovers while they die
fucking in the memory of some lost pleasure unkempt and diseased
with great saw and darling knives to cut the fascia from the soul.

Here you are in front of my knife
backed into my cock and sore
we dance and genuflect out of
some prehistoric mayhem when
Light is stung and bodies revolt
When you commence the orgasm
and I respond to it with a sigh
so loud it is a shadow of the facts
when you make love to my orbits
and my eyes arrange your breasts
For fondling beyond touch, so soft
And sprung you are alive in tender
Open complete resolution, as you
Pause with your fingers, I kiss you.

I write this poem not knowing what is asked.
I am content to tempt life with death
and to make the horror of our universe
A great amusement park of soft touches
intended to open up the clit like a lyric
note when the throat sucks that thing
you demonstrate with large wanks
and finally you are a memory, aren’t you
and I am finally lost in the unkempt history
of the universe as its cause simply rests
in the spaces where my fingers find your heart
massaging it alive, as your clitoris so swollen
with my mouth as I tenderly make it hard
to shift and lift until it is the origin of big bangs
And then the soft history rages while we watch
The endless flags follow home to some complete
connection when light stops pleasure erodes from hills
And gullies until there is a soft stop and finally nothing.

Be aware of the texture of the human race
when the Asian and Negroid suffer their lapse
and joined at the hip provide that new path
where race is a stern warning for purification
I want to be pure.
I want to signal the end of racial divides
with the languid feel of your hands kneading my male
breasts. I am torn apart. You know that
as you suck my nipples, and the milk rolls out
of your throat and into my ardor.

I am so in love with the dirty sexual tracks
that I count your fibers, your cunt, your music
until I am bound in your speculative orgasm
shouting it, spread open, broken, but alive
as you spread your cunt like a flag for my desire
to shift, to make the skin thumb and sail
and you in my arms simply wither away
while I count your ribs, make God into a savior
not for our sex, but the preservation of the flood
when my cunt simply empties out, like an old river
and I am watching the fluid steam with great course
you wait for the hump and thump to bear rejoice.


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Comments by other Members

Cornelia at 14:16 on 22 June 2005  Report this post
I like the energy and complexity of this and it is clear that a sexual encounter is taking place at some point, but it is hard to follow as the ideas and images are so many. It seems to take the point of view of a serial sex killer except the victim's response seems too positive. On the other hand, the narrator must be delusioned, imagining compliance.



I can't even see where the quotation fits in, but maybe someone else can enlighten me.

laurafraser at 18:36 on 22 June 2005  Report this post
I would disagree with Sheila- I don't see the narrator as "disillusioned" on the contary I think he comes across as incredibly aware and perceptive, a sort of free flowing canon ball of explosiveness towering down the river of life.

This poem really, really captivated me, really captivated me, it is perhaps the one for me where all your images and metaphors and messages link with a sublime sense of understanding of one another as though each sentence as bowed before its predescessor and they've come to a type of agreement whereby they mould together, creating something quite spectatcular. This reminds me of Ginsberg at his best. i found it calming to read in many ways, there is no voilence, there is only humanity and a deep sense of this is the way it is for me (ie the narrator). It is like all your poems a very masculine poem, and that is its strength.

I particularly like:

When you commence the orgasm
and I respond to it with a sigh
so loud

- A wondrful juxtaposition- a loud sigh and also the sense of a lover responding to his lovers orgasm. there is a gentleness there, that in actual fact dances softly throughout the whole poem.

I am content to tempt life with death

- You know how Haiku's and Shakespeare (being two examples) manage to convey a billion different meanings in one small simple sentence-you achieve that here qute stunningly.

and finally you are a memory, aren’t you
and I am finally lost in the unkempt history
of the universe as its cause simply rests
in the spaces where my fingers find your heart
massaging it alive,

-Beautiful, as is:

to make the skin thumb and sail
and you in my arms simply wither away
while I count your ribs,

An exquisite poem Sean.


Cornelia at 18:49 on 22 June 2005  Report this post
Oh, I meant to say delusional - he thinks his partner - I've revised my view a little - is willing. I can only understand it as a fantasy from the narrator's point of view.

I thought
'Here you are in front of my knife,
Backed into my cock'

very violent, not at all gentle. It was that image which triggered the idea that this was a necrophilic fantasy. I do see there are some tender parts, too, but it is mixed in with some other death imagery too, such as counting ribs whilst the assailee withers away. Gruesome. Oh, I know, it reminds me of the Browning poem - 'My Last Duchess' (?) Without the bad language, of course. I can't understand 'skin thimb and sail' at all.



How does the quotation fit in?

Beanie Baby at 21:44 on 22 June 2005  Report this post
Hi Sean.
This is masterfully written as your work usually is. Longer poems, on the whole, are not my thing, but I enjoy the passion of your words and it makes me want to dig deeper and find out more (no pun intended).

There is a violence to this that is disturbing yet the way it mingles with pure sexual pleasure and the love of one person for the other makes the reader just feel so involved it is almost heart wrenching.

A clever mix of emotions and imagery. I'm impressed.

gard at 20:57 on 12 August 2005  Report this post
Hi SeanF

I agree with BeanieB that there is a brutality in this piece but then it gets like that sometimes. I mean sex can be somewhat savage depending on the feelings involved (Oh that old cliche).

I should think the person you wrote this of should be very complimented that your passions are stirred so.

Beautiful expressive writing


seanfarragher at 20:49 on 13 August 2005  Report this post
Brutality is passion sometimes and often the tenderness needs a foil, something in opposition to the passion, a way of being involved in passion. Consensual, of course, but an immediacy of enjoyment. Pleasure in release that is larger than any one time with one person. Pleasure expressed as the personality of life. Thank you.

Xenny at 12:51 on 17 September 2005  Report this post
Hey there Sean

What I liked best about it was a sort of acceptance - a real lack of shying away. Not picking out certain parts of experience that will fit cleanly into some little poem, but just telling it all.

I didn't find it a violent poem. There were bits I felt were brutal, but they seemed very much encompassed within the whole, and the overall sense wasn't one of violence.

This line was very striking:
"I want to be pure"

Especially as it's such a little line amidst all the others in a poem that doesn't hold back. Then at the beginning of the next paragraph I liked

"I am so in love with the dirty sexual tracks"

I'm not usually that fond of long poems either, especially ones that don't give you much of a rest! (I'm lazy I guess). In fact, I have to admit I sometimes don't finish them. But this one made me keep reading - well done ;)

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