are mere delusion ―
Death is Death.
«Adam Donaldson Powell and the Death» ― that is what I originally wanted to call these timely reflections about the rebellious poet and his natural last Not poetic, but real action ― about Death. However: «The Death is Death» and anything poetic in Death (especially during present time of total tolerance, of spiritual deviation and widespread betrayal of the soul) Is not present! The most severe aloofness and the maximum brutality of consideration of Death is always necessary for the original poet, as it is only that which he can Never seize, snatch, put his paws on with “illusory rhymes”, “optimistic metaphors” and cheerful “figures of speech.” Id est: every death poetry is meaningless flirting with the “illusion of death”, but Not the desirable secret contact with Death. Just so: the Death at all times did Not love, does Not love and will Never love poets and the more so Never will deign to give them any «mystical indulgences», to award them «literary paradise holidays» and to give «immortal personal advantages». The Death is Death! … It ― at once! ― without sobs and tears has well understood Edgar Poe, wearily having cried out (having cawed out!) to the whole world his ruthless a corvine verdict: «Nevermore!». Even such a wise, firm/stout poetic prisoner and evil cogitative hermit as Ezra Pound, having sensed the reality of his own Destruction, wearily, but, however, without any special grief stated: «All my life I believed I knew something. But then one strange day came when I realized that I knew Nothing, yes, I knew Nothing. And so words became void of meaning. I have arrived too late at Ultimate Uncertainty». He has hit the nail on the head! Only «Ultimate Uncertainty» ― that Is the only thing that each poet receives after his own real Destruction. In other words: the True Death (as a savage/ferocious Riddle of the Forever Impossible!) Should Never Be confused with the simple and/or complex «rhymed end» of yet more illusive «dying», «disintegration» and «dissolution» of the literally Never Nonexistent «poet». Therefore, we are repeating once again ― three times! ― «The Death is Death» … The Inscrutable Death always beats any poet, in so doing even Without taking the own initial Deck of Cards. Even the greatest verses about Death written by the higher geniuses in the ancient time, (Alas!) do Not suit even the primary alphabet of the Endless Textbook of Death. At best: the selected poet can die in the Death Game as the Pure Child beyond Good and Evil, the Riddle and the Solution, the Muse and Poetry …
When Adam Donaldson Powell wrote his own mystical novel «The Tunnel at the End of Time», he hoped to outplay, deceive and even to defeat Death, but now that Death is much too close, he has received a necessary Enlightenment of Will (perhaps ― the Iron Satori of another Divine Game!), namely: to proudly and courageously accept Death Without fear, support and balance … Without repentance, reward and punishment … Without births, eternity and the end …