whimper

This piece I remember, and just found again after 40 years.  I don't understand a word of it, not a word, yet maybe I will after I write it out here:

I used to believe in change and the power of movement.  Dynamics are dead, a thing of the past.  One's senses are frozen to the ice and endlessly assaulted by noise.  Silence, the musician's dream.  Chained and bound, empathy an empty tomb a castrated child.  Whimpering, crying out for a place to rest and a body to climb in it.  Take me Poseidon and bless me.

Chained to a rock, each day the vultures come to eat out my heart and liver.  Friends, lovers, companions.  You desire one and must have more, constantly more.  Your body, where the heart used to pump precious life -now become an abyss to soak in more and more, the tiny things are mountains ripping apart your small body struggling to get inside.  I am chosen, god has called, and it is done.  He calls not from power or from change no he whispers in my ear -My son, it is done.  The change is done in only one action, one futile act.  Giving myself fully to the moment, the great work of eternity, a non-movement.  All music comes from death, all music is death Poseisdon. 

I am weak and my body trembles.  Can a man, myself waiting slowly toward the sound and tone.  Undulations that are a sustained note, a one color symphony.  I can understand her getting upset, but gee, I get nervous not having people to talk to...laughter.   Fast and ludicrous!  A foot step the one foot shuffle.

Well, it just goes on and on.  I have no idea exactly what it is or what it means.  I only know it was precious to me, a secret letter.  I guess at some point, each of us contains that passion to create something, to explain something not even understood.