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An obscene picture is always within a masterpiece,
A masterpiece is always within an obscene picture


A biocentric hymn
An absolution to the gods of aetology
As an ill accepted and hopeless philosophy
A dyslogistic saying bound in eclat harmony with the devil
As the gods of causation evanesce.

Emancipate the eutopia locked in the throes of subconsciousness
Bask in the glory of the understanding of our futile hands
A two fold reversal obit
*With the yarkened pacates at the conclusion of the potent zephyr

Scribed are these words, as a final attempt to make known
That borne on the accord of environment the muses sing
While the mind toils as the shrewd medium
Getting the credit though being a pawn of the universe.
*allusion to eastern front

No more blue skies
Quarter past eight o'clock
Numb throughout my extremities
And thinking of old times
Like when I was not this 'I'
Back when we'd go flying through the night
Laughing at our insignificance
While humoring our worth by doing adoxal charity.
Our motives were the wick of enjoyment
And quite simply nothing mattered
Nothing could go wrong and nothing ever did.
But now, at a quarter past eight on some wintry night
We are not flying through blue skies
They just aint' blue no more
They too busy making a mask out of charity
And selfishness
To remember why they be blue anyway.
So we, being the snowflakes
Always dancing
End up swirling round through the night
With our eyes fixed on eachother
We love how significant we seem to be
And that is our fuel
Which lights the fire that melts us all to drops in the ocean.

Dancing illusions

Across burned fields lit by blue moons
Dancing, playing in the silver light
A nymph paints a picture in the sand with her toes
As she ever so gracefully prances about the coastal shore.

At the edge of the world I have come to know
There lurks an invigorating, mystical fog of the mind
Where the unreal comes alive
And me and my carnal needs fade into illusion.

Deep and blue, the mighty Atlantic cloaks certainty
And leaves me to my memories…
I have heard so much of what there might be
Mermaids and sirens, sea monsters and scoundrels

Though on the sandy shore on the other side of the burned field
I see what seems to be footprints of the nymph that I thought lived there
But now, in concrete realism, the tiny creature lusting for its existence is gone
And I look outward to the sea waiting to see a monster or mermaid

Perpetual Motion
Sitting there like royalty on its throne
With its eyes focused on oblivion
While its body remains motionless.
An invisible flame bursts forth
Accompanied by a furious hormonal lust
And the beauty of the creature is lost to a myth.
The carnal mind raises its scepter
While wearing the garment of a mystic diving into to the spirit
Love is born.
Clinging, now, by a double edged thorn in the flesh
That acts as a carrier as saliva is donated
Through the individual ending embrace.
At the height of passionate oblivion
A mutinous organism removes the thorn
Now bound by blood
And going back to the throne
The extra pillows are set aside
Making room for a tizzy of motion.

Stag-Beatle
Raise up the trumpets
Sheathe the swords
His majesty is on his way
And deserves to be adored.
Through the nights fury
Stars fighting stars
He has emerged victorious
For he is ours.
With a mighty 'heave'
Ra carries him across the sky
For he was dead long ago
And still, survivors are afraid to die.

A self portrait
How long has it been
Since the light shined through the veil
And the shadows danced upon the walls?
Brilliant spectres of every genre
Made of pure white, but look black
Like the insides of ourselves
As for the light, That is myself
And the spectre,
That is what I see in the mirror.

The world

Like within the without is
The building blocks are the creation
And the creation is made like the building blocks.


Mundane Matter

We are celestial
For at night I look to the stars
And see a model of myself.

Pesky self

I…I…I…stutter
I know not why
That…that is bothering me in itself.
I…I am bitten, poisoned, wounded
But by what I do not know.
In itself that…that is troublesome to me.
I…am puzzled, perplexed and stumped
Borne to idleness without an evident cause
It is…it is irksome to me.
I…I…have always been this way
Plagued by an emptiness that is emetic
In itself that…that is sickening to me.
I…I…I…must decide
I cannot be in indecision forever
That…that is bothering me.


Weave

The sounds of silence
Music to my ears
Father of my thoughts
Tomb of my fears

The abyss is loud and clear
Its old prophets were made of it
So are the stories we hear
Of something which is nothing knit


Threads of subjectiveness

With transparent threads
The world is woven
In a forever confliction of opposites

So much evil is balanced by good
But all that is in accord is not noticed
For it is neither evil nor good.


Blessings of love

Enkindled by love
How can I explain away what is seen as a chore
When they do not love
They simply go on day to day
In a confused stupor
Pondering their future
And doing the chore of survival
While slandering the gift of life.

The eastern front
Overlooking the eastern front
The sun rises as a warning of the light to come.
On the east side of the line
Is where complexity battles simplicity
And knowledge battles itself.
It is a place where right reeks wrong
And paradoxes are truths.
It is a maze where every way except inward is a dead end
The start of a journey to the within
Taking hostage of all extremities.
The wise men grow old here
And the children grow ever so slightly toward insanity
Lest they have an elders hand
Or some grace from something else
For the bullet of society screams eastward
And the simplicity that lies on the east side
Is eternally under attack
Eternally being destroyed
Yet always finds a way to create its revival.

On the western side
Towers reach the sky
Taking the mind crushing shortcut heavenward.
The sun dies here
Leaving the world cloaked in a darkness of incompetence and uncertainty.
The truth is obvious
And right is might ever so delicately disguised as reason.
Everything omitted from the mind,
Ostracized from the mouth and body exists here
In a balance of filth and mechanical beauty
Pleasing to the patronized senses.
A feeling of happiness accompanies the ignorance
And intelligence is rumored as the gateway to a hell.

In the battle land between the two worlds
A tiny line is drawn
Nature on one side
Nurture on the other
And the stalemate of free thinkers snagged in between.

On the eastern front

Outside hovering over the ground
To many hours spent
On the border of the war zone
Technology versus simplicity
Each day the line moved a bit
But no side ever wins
So the boy just sits there
In the same indecision as his environment

POW

Under the stars
Under the lights
The interrogation
Into the nights
So you wanna run?
Wanna hide?
Bounded and plundered
Torn to abide
Out of three dimensions
Pick two
That's home
Welcome to the new
Paradise on earth
The taut outside the mountains
Tagged to sell proclaim your worth
An indigenous man amongst a sea of alien
Foreigners in their homeland
Tyrants that were patriots
Patriotism evolved to self-marketing
Time to join the associates; the new army of sales men.

The hat on the man

The hat was transported down the street
By telling the man where to go,
How to act
And what to eat.
In exchange for his personality
The man gained a superficial respect
And was a spectacle of fashion; or so he thought
He was merely a reflection of his hat; body and soul.

Time

Too quickly the sun and moon run about
Leaving their followers confused
Because the people drafted a system of time
Without consulting that which it was to be based on
So the irregularities went on unrecognized
Now we try to fix that;
Still afraid of talking to the celestial objects themselves.

Beauty

Stunned, the eyes go into shock
Until the mind realizes
Aesthetics have nothing to do with beauty
And the beastly human walks away.


None
O' interminable garb that cloaks the love
Peel away like a newborn shedding its egg
Reveal unto us all your bounty
O' veils of Isis that are weak against the eyes yet opaque
Shed yourselves for the benefit of the poor animals that are running around without a head on their shoulders
Reveal unto us what we could never imagine to be revealed.

Into the air arms will raise
In sweet adoration of knowing what was hidden
Then will we see we should have never questioned you
Answers lie in conceit
Truth be it known from anyone else is not true
To know not to know is divine intelligence, to know is mortal folly.


Food

He circled like a buzzard
All the while his head was down
And he crashed into a tree!
His prey is not usually one to survive
But with a dash of wit and a sprinkle of intelligence
The food was fed.


Dearest

She has eyes of gold in any colour
With teeth of pure white yellow
A nose imperfect to perfection
Lips as ugly as beauty can be.
A body as fragile as a quartz
With a mind like a knife.
A heart always in her chest
With a dash of omniscient love in her breathe.
As a lover she will stand
Wearing a garb of a friend
All the while tip-toeing on her heels.
And they say there is no such thing as a soul mate.


The boy

Accursed, through my own negligence
I have made air to iron
And cast that to gyves
In which I wear quotidian
Under the stars that I passed off as airplanes
Or never saw blinded by the cities lights.
Through the forest I must be the disgrace
The end of the life cycle
To the trees I am just another murder
To the sun I am a child
To the universe I am nothing.
To myself I am
What others say I am
What I think I am
And I am not, or am I?
I cannot answer anything
I know nothing more than nonsense
And they call that intelligence and knowledge?
I am as dumb as can be
Until I can answer question number one
I cannot speak as me.


Liber II

His head, facing hellward is lost in a thought
'today is today and to-morrow it will be dead
while my children are mutinous
running a-muck with thoughts that are not thoughts
my brothers are in turmoil
fighting the very substance which harbors them
my lovers are hidden
amongst my enemies
when will sight return to my eyes!'
His head finally falls as close to the hells as it can be
And he cries out with a shudder
'I am here
at the bottom of your mountain
in heaven.'
And the marriage between Kether and the boy is now made known
As he dances with Malkuth.


Histories In-vain

Pitter, patter, beats of drums
Grab the sky
To save the fruit of the doldrums
And within what lye
Masks of tin
Hearts of gold
Valiant men
With stories untold
In vain pursuit
Joined with the superficial flaw
Acidic at the root
We lost it all!


Again

An explicit joint venture
Into the abyss of civilization
Reveals that prolonged exposure
To a given area causes assimilation
Thus an organism placed in a foreign land
Will adapt or die
Without a chance to reprimand
The place it will lie.


Tomorrow

A childish tantrum
Tied to a long held dream
Of the grass on the other side
But bound to the impossibility
On interminable levels
Realization dictates
And the spell is broken
This poem is over.


Land o' the free

In this land
Where trees rise to the sky
And water churns
People walk and die
Free as a bird
You are what you eat
Absurd
What delusional conceit
That is too much credit given
There is no thought
All that is driven
Is mistakenly called taught


The pillar of life

Truth is the opposite of a lie
A lie is something that is not accepted as true
Acceptance is surrender
Surrender is death
Death is disbursement
Disbursement is omnipotence
Omnipotence is godly
Godliness is adored
Adoration roots religion
Religion proclaims truth

Outside of the circle there exists a vast amount of area
All of which is a lie to the initiate
And a fountain of knowledge to the members of that system
But what is between the universes is the only truth that is accepted by all
And that just means that everyone has surrendered themselves to what we call facts
So they too can proclaim a truth that no one will succeed in proving wrong with other facts and scales
Thus become a godhead, or a friend thereof.


A Buddhist love story

A smile and a turn of the cheek
As love emerges fresh and sublime
What hast caught mine eye, and made me weak

It is not woman or man
It is the fact that all is nothing
And nothing I have been.


Lovevly lady treason

*Such foul and fair day there has not been
*All of the earths oceans could not wash clean
the tyranny that my eyes have seen.

They call it love as they belittle me
with their promises of happiness in slavery
perhaps im too superfluous to be free.

Laughter has not looked so much like tears
since my smirk was called a smile
and a drop of rain was wind driven.

*The snake has been scotched; not killed
not once, not twice but thrice
and each time all the more powerful it returns.

Now the serphent is three headed
one lay on the floor dragged and slain
the other two still remain

Decapatation is not a solution
my sword is futile
now a new resolution:

Let the woman come as they may
my weapons are in retreat
If she bite
death will come by what i say
and madam snake she'll be that way.

But what of love
I see her before me
in her throne in the sky
laughing as i sigh.
"Why hast thou forsaken me"
I charge to the stars
Mine eyes are benumbed
with skin stained by latent scars
My soul is empty
My mouth is dry
Why hast thee exiled me
and like the heros before me i learn why
*-Blatent allusion to Shakespeare
hither yonder and no where to be found!

From the bowels of heaven
i pray thee come
and in thy hand carry me
from where i have come.

This is no mortal dilemma;
though i may resemble what is not
just like my animal comrades
who have blinded thee by appearence.

O' sweat lover
have mercy on my eyes
while you flap your wings
and take me home.


What I am not

I am everything except for me
because 'me' is what is seen
and what is seen by others
is rejected by I:
*for a red rose is every color but red
and I am every person but me.
*-allusion to Crowley
Love and its applications

Mercury has made known Venuses plot
to trap the inhabitants of the earth between her and Mars
so they will love as they fight
and the assioation will be set
because we are the fools adored
us and our futile representations of gods!





All poems written in late 1998 or early 1999 with the more recent poems at the top.