the Mess

All this great entier magnificent animated machine wielding the Destiny of all its occupant entities! Electrically inclined of which no one is responsable save of course for those pre-determined molded bodies, which were intended from the very beginning to encompass logic envy and desirous passion, but had no say in the affair!

Up in the heavens God seeks down here the ideal mutable vessel. The race most adequate in accordance with those places which He Himself has in some previous supernal context, decided would be proper and becoming to his innate and fathomless will. After all it’s just us who stubbornly insist on staying here within these organic confines, irrigated with blood and filled with bone as well as potential ash: bearing the weight of God’s master minded plan, that would make of us those who are the guilty ones….yet He is all powerful, but declining to take full responsibility for his own god made mess, shoves it onto Mankind’s shoulders. 

Man’s sin was to have made carnal love to the woman who originated from the start at the separation of his soul from his clay body. 

Leornado would intimate this later on, in the self-portrait of himself as the ideal woman (he was wise enough and avoided projecting his maiden soul into the tangible outer presence of a mortal woman). 

Yet the God seeks his mortal vessel, making us feel guilty for His deliberate concupiscence!

On a Another Plane

Like a distilled life animating sprite, you live and breathe on some other plane. While here it’s true, you defecate drink & eat cadaverous shells! Though you believe you walk hand in hand with Nature sometimes reclining on her voluptuous bounteous bosom, intending uselessly from here to there; here is just a shell. An empty cockle laying on the sand. A pretentious life where dictionaries dictate to the innocent mind a false life of useless hope and inculcating middle truths!

A place of shades, the abode of dead souls, replete  with education, culture & lies in the eyes! Oh, alas for the devastating quickening that protrudes into the seeing heart. Make to do. Quick to the mantle. Get a bowl!

Who has a soul was issued on another plane. What was shown here, was no more than a curtsey, an inclination of Mankind. A paper doll. A useless yearning. Who’s has a mind is but the god who would die. But can’t! 

a maker of difficult things

Surely, what a silly man in a silly suit, parading about on all this litter, like a big black cat doing his thing; while all who are there & who see, muse on the well being of tomorrow’s death knoll! Hey but wait a minute, and what about my children? And my children’s children and their children’s children till the dark dawn come on what was made like in a collective dream of automated dumb hopes!

Chose this or that. Ponder on your invisible strength. Your absence in front of the great monster; which is really quite a beautiful Aryan benediction. … there are no gods watching out for you. And like a god you are an invisible incomprehensible phenomenon. Subtle as a plasma…immense within as the stars in the heavens revolve in your heart. The which has no bounds, no boundaries, therefore nothing worth saving. To make and undo. Courageous without moral principles colliding with your intellectual volition! Your Ethics would be your whereabouts, a magnificent demeanor that follows you, as a shadow would a corporal body; yet you haven’t none! No registered name of any worth, would be natural worth. A god between branches living as unseen; a kosmic burning cinder quenching its infinite thirst with it very own tail: a Maker of the heavens and the earth!

Skuld Verdandi & Urdr

I beseech thee, ever incandescent sky, all enveloping Master Mind. Spirit to nothing. Intangible heavy substance. Dense as dense could be, become and thrive, here in the bottomless net of all things made up in make believe. Worshipping no man as sinner, condemning no man as honorable!

Obliterating cancerous thoughts before they make it to the vestibule or outhouse on this illusory Earth. Rapt in an idole who waits in some depression somewhere far from friends and foes invented in a kind of sanctuary or havre of peace. 

O great Spirit interpreter, dead to New Age mumbo. Undrugged fiend, with no heartless and hopeless handicap. But a whisper in the eye. A magical trick teetering into oblivion. 

Does a man here with other migrant fellows, believe really believe in the crap that comes from his belly, to be an obstacle to his wellbeing of worthlessness? On the skirts of some hellish liar decked with teats, the wayfarer goes off to the side and watches carefully. What is it covers my pupils in dismay if it isn’t the dross of CO2? A wink and a batter in between several buns doesn’t make my day. Yet, what levitates deceives, what goes round, but hesitates! 

My Sisters in Heaven Earth and Hell doubt the ascertainable existence of their own children who now weaned from their bitter nipple, will necessarily with displeasure aggravate their single heartfelt endeavor!  They cut the bite, but no lever holds; nothing binds. No string attached no scissors to cut.Where’s the indefinite spool turning inside the august ethereal  corner in my bedroom?

I beseech thee then with my steady arms uplifted, to unshake the befuddled bystander. To make him disappear because it’s of no use or better to make him or her become a cup bearer to your tidy plan. Then scuttle back to the cupboard where nothing is to be known.

From the Outrageous Principles of Nothing

There in a dark place. Very un-redeeming. In a portentous wrought of chaotic giddiness, I sought mayhem unrequited.

Surely from the great pithy depth of all Mankind’s innate stupidity, there could be found somewhere there a particular remedy. That would confound my personal perplexity. Mouth opened visage dumbfound, in front of such a dire chronic and incurable immaturity or selfish egomania if you will!  

But no there is none shall never be any….certainly this makes me very happy; as there would be no hope in any thing of a material demeanor, I would be free to love and think freely without fetter! doomed to to be lost within the magnificent abyss myself as unique fellow friend or guide. My Love would be without attachement, having no profit from nothing, save itself and its perfectly inclined buoyancy on the etheric surface of our World, diverse and multiple and inconsolable! A no-thing within nothingness, more adamant than God’s buttocks, in his chair  of Cassiopeia!

Trust me. There is no Will other than mine. The Crown on my head leaks into Eternity’s froth. All my marrow has become my immortal outer-self. I’m drunk on my own spilt blood. There is no more thirst in me for a fleeting shadow.

My Soul is Aether

Voici le monde dans sa finalité. Un tourment au Ciel pour le plus grand malheur des anthropoïdes ensorcelés.
 Ô combien est auguste la terreur au coeur de l'homme qui n'est pas affranchi
de sa bêtise chronique.

   An ornate brazen vessel filled to the eroded brim with simple pain. Through out each & every sinew tearing. A dream embodiment though embedded in my blood.

   All this unceasing furious rage just for one enduring embrace eternally stretched across the ineluctable pervasive gape!

   My strained azur eyes never weeping. The gall in bed with utter acrimony!

   These are what cadaverous memories have shaped within my brain bowels, in a seamless void. Rendering thus the brittle illusory carnal abode among the Classical elements into a horror place, till now that hidden regret make her cynical spectacle known.

   She says: "You my friend are the one to blame! You were your very own dear Hell. You, your Paradise and the Holy bridge to it.

But see!,   my sweet poor boy, you ate the chaff! You put the soul into the fuming froth, then placed this in your noble heart!"

   Our life span makes things move. It's our Soul the inner creator of naught & sweetness. 

   "I sing a song then hate but do not cry. I am the quenched root fret with my own makings.

Regrets are only mental projectiles of the which like what's to come, you make to happen, then do again."