On Animation

This blistering voice
in the sound, the atmosphere
layers of frequencies and murmur

I am tolerant only if I don't  fall to fear
but that happens as well

and jagged hands have touched 
the sensitized skin

both hands and skin mine
seething with rebellious cells
like all of us seeing their own dreams

feeling the sonic drill in this here timespace cone
and where do sound and light come blurred with
sour teeth and tea

-- Here -- 

so let me be crawled 
and coiled
in hunting the history
of the life I have

orienteering into the future
and myth, mechanics and code

this cipher

and live, be animated
on command,
let eons flow;
arrays of mountainous tops
peaking in waves of perspective
that amount to perception

and bring together
the disjointed fragments
that still hold sentry over me 
lest I walk away
from this isolation

and leave the self be individual
in someone else's body
to scatter in entropy

and we, then together and free,
untie the cropped interfaces
that damned and doomed
all oceans, archipelago
and continents
dividable into separation
only in our calculus and measure
as we brake numbers and entities
into infinite decimal

let quanta become a current
where palimpsest waves
and all become animate
on the command
of my decision
that I refuse individuality

like I would refuse incarceration
into fantastic prisons

like I wouldn't walk
right through
undetectable walls.

No, really
sometimes I sleep ashamed
that I let myself be thus molested
and forced to interact
with alien separatist figment.

(If the self was not an immaterial soul
that animates the matter of the body,
as like that of the world,
is it then an accumulation matter uses
to gain a perspective into itself?)