jeoshua
Fevered imagination? Check. Abusive muse? Check. Computer? Check.
Sigh
I don't know... it feels almost cheap without Brandre on hand to make batshitcrazy comments about last night.
On the other hand...
Mazel tov to us all, especially the newest blue states.
::hums "We are the Champions"::
On the other hand...
Mazel tov to us all, especially the newest blue states.
::hums "We are the Champions"::
Haiku
War, strife, mass chaos
Disease, lies, panic and death...
Feh. I passed the bar.
Found amongst personal affects of John Doe, lunatic and cat-worrier
As my studies have continued, I find myself drawn unerringly to such knowledge I never knew existed. Dark, forbidden tomes appear at my doorstep, as if by some unseen courier and many are the nights that I have heard that same high-pitched laughter, that child-like glee that chills my blood as I reluctantly open a new volume into my own damnation.
Reader, understand me when I say that I fear not just for my sanity, for what is a mind but a fleeting thing that shudders under the weight of a world with hidden meaning. No, it is for my very own soul that I lie awake in bed at night, unable to close my eyes without images unbidden assailing me and words uncoiling like asps and vipers to strike again and again, poisoning my world with their venomous musings.
I have long been a man who has trusted in the creation of this world by a benevolent G-d from whom we were given life and stewardship of the beauty around us. Now, though, I am drawn to question my naive presumptions. As I move further into these accursed books, as the world becomes thinner and reality unwraps to reveal the hidden workings therein, I am left to shudder in horror at the squamous guts displayed to me and all too often my mind simply quiets and I lose all sense of being. It is in those states that I hear that strange droning.
Sometimes it is the sound of murmuring, a chanting by a hundred thousand men whose tongues have been torn from their mouths for the greatest of blasphemies. Very often it is a sound not unlike bees and the flapping wings of flies and the chitinous flight of beetles. Regardless of the form, the sound always resolves itself. Though I desperately seek to maintain my ignorance, to lose my senses to the noise, there is always enough signal to hear and understand. I am too far gone, my mind has been invaded and the knowledge is as a gall in my soul. What will emerge or what my state of degeneration will be when it does... I cannot say.
But I know when. G-d above forgive me, I know what no man or woman or child or imbecile or damned soul amongst us should know. Within the chanting of mutes, within the chittering of insects come to claim dominion from men whose time is at an end, I have learned the most dreadful of knowledge. The date of my doom.
~When the stars are right, when the planets have swept into the final orbit, when the 24th day of the 7th month of the 7th year of this millennium dawns then death may die and in this strange aeon the beast shall arise in the Roanoke and you shall know it. And unto you the Bar will be born.~
Reader, understand me when I say that I fear not just for my sanity, for what is a mind but a fleeting thing that shudders under the weight of a world with hidden meaning. No, it is for my very own soul that I lie awake in bed at night, unable to close my eyes without images unbidden assailing me and words uncoiling like asps and vipers to strike again and again, poisoning my world with their venomous musings.
I have long been a man who has trusted in the creation of this world by a benevolent G-d from whom we were given life and stewardship of the beauty around us. Now, though, I am drawn to question my naive presumptions. As I move further into these accursed books, as the world becomes thinner and reality unwraps to reveal the hidden workings therein, I am left to shudder in horror at the squamous guts displayed to me and all too often my mind simply quiets and I lose all sense of being. It is in those states that I hear that strange droning.
Sometimes it is the sound of murmuring, a chanting by a hundred thousand men whose tongues have been torn from their mouths for the greatest of blasphemies. Very often it is a sound not unlike bees and the flapping wings of flies and the chitinous flight of beetles. Regardless of the form, the sound always resolves itself. Though I desperately seek to maintain my ignorance, to lose my senses to the noise, there is always enough signal to hear and understand. I am too far gone, my mind has been invaded and the knowledge is as a gall in my soul. What will emerge or what my state of degeneration will be when it does... I cannot say.
But I know when. G-d above forgive me, I know what no man or woman or child or imbecile or damned soul amongst us should know. Within the chanting of mutes, within the chittering of insects come to claim dominion from men whose time is at an end, I have learned the most dreadful of knowledge. The date of my doom.
~When the stars are right, when the planets have swept into the final orbit, when the 24th day of the 7th month of the 7th year of this millennium dawns then death may die and in this strange aeon the beast shall arise in the Roanoke and you shall know it. And unto you the Bar will be born.~
"What do you believe"
She asked me and I leaned back and smiled and self-dreamt
This human race that we walk and stumble and then pick ourselves
Up we go swiftly ascending ever higher ever greater and one has to wonder
"What do you believe"
And what do you believe when we can touch other planets and the sky is only atmosphere
"What do you believe"
In the air in the water in the cool sensation of a breeze-kissed arm on a summer sunlit day
But of people and the triumphs and tragedies
"What do you believe"
Within desires murky and unfathomable
The spark of divinity and potential unimaginable
"What do you believe"
In stone and wood and the burden of slaves and freemen and masons chipping chiseling
Shamans priests medicine men blessing these places these roads these
"What do you believe"
Entropy and cracks and the slow erosion of inertia
Time tested, time tainted
Lines of stress appearing and who is to say
"What do you believe"
Dust to dust to mud to clay to gravel to cement
Humanity dreams anew a world and a new world is crafted
"What do you believe"
Twisting the ouroboros
Serpentine snaking spreading connecting bridging closing and opening
"What do you believe"
Souls hide everplayful whispering and lurking dancing under veils of flesh
and runes etched in numbers posted, the smell of prayer wheels, hidden in the mundane
"What do you believe"
we drive along our dragon paths reborn
"What do you believe"
And I wake up and smile back
"Everything."
She asked me and I leaned back and smiled and self-dreamt
This human race that we walk and stumble and then pick ourselves
Up we go swiftly ascending ever higher ever greater and one has to wonder
"What do you believe"
And what do you believe when we can touch other planets and the sky is only atmosphere
"What do you believe"
In the air in the water in the cool sensation of a breeze-kissed arm on a summer sunlit day
But of people and the triumphs and tragedies
"What do you believe"
Within desires murky and unfathomable
The spark of divinity and potential unimaginable
"What do you believe"
In stone and wood and the burden of slaves and freemen and masons chipping chiseling
Shamans priests medicine men blessing these places these roads these
"What do you believe"
Entropy and cracks and the slow erosion of inertia
Time tested, time tainted
Lines of stress appearing and who is to say
"What do you believe"
Dust to dust to mud to clay to gravel to cement
Humanity dreams anew a world and a new world is crafted
"What do you believe"
Twisting the ouroboros
Serpentine snaking spreading connecting bridging closing and opening
"What do you believe"
Souls hide everplayful whispering and lurking dancing under veils of flesh
and runes etched in numbers posted, the smell of prayer wheels, hidden in the mundane
"What do you believe"
we drive along our dragon paths reborn
"What do you believe"
And I wake up and smile back
"Everything."
A Metaphor
Tags: 
politics
politicsevery word is a blossom, black and oily
dripping dribbling
burning withering
volatile bleed
seeps and winds
glinting thorns between the rivulets
running rivulets, running streamlets
streaming steaming corpse blood
wetting the ground
probing prodding roots
intertwining sucking suckling
desiccated emaciated
lips sighing groaning
drowned silenced
clapping so busy clapping
sight unseen, blind
clapping, so busy
clapping
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