empirical is a bitch

the prison of the empirical,

where certitude wears its own shackles,

where one identifies with one's mind,

where ego goes to grow of itself,

where thought take umbrage

and think has an obligation 

to declared manners,

where thought in charge of think,

is a dog and pony show,

an Iditarod of thought-trainers

demonstrating their success, 

as over think-gods, 

by having them run 

a logical course of effort pageantry,

where meeting expectations

yields winners and losers,

as thought would have so predicted.

such is the grandeur of cogency.

certitude is the brain child of experience.

we wanted the play of conjure.

but venturing without a reality text

is a very private enterprise.

one that should remain 

almost unmentionable.

there should be a language restraint 

to such topics.

one should know the risks

of breathing in waterfall air,

trampoline yoga,

standing full body in a fast moving stream,

as if as contemplations, 

that don't result as language to say,

or theory that rustles with wordiness 

to express.

empirical has its handcuffs 

and microphones.

all say is suspect until empirical has spoken.

and at the very base of the empirical column

is fear based ordination,

where we'd all be dead, 

as an after-thought.

if it were not for the right livelihood of fear,

rest assured has an integrity.

let's hope that it is not based upon proof

or else we are all madness,

without regulatory means 

of approval at hand.

theorists should be burned 

on the rumble of their claims.

and we, we should all be gendered in proof,

as if we are masters of our own fate.

I am sorry.

was I suppose to live for the known

and be apprehensive about the unknown

and yet secretly have 

an unanswerable thirst,

for that which is encumbered to us

by being of the world of the unknown,

where certitude does not help 

in the search of the unknown 

for the unknown? . . .